Wheel of Fortune
by Marx Avian II
Summary: Crime has swallowed up the city. Every night villains stalk the streets, killing and pillaging as they please. Heroes cannot hope to prevail, no matter how often you cage villains they will break free and kill once more. When the world is at its lowest a criminal is needed, one that can do what heroes cannot. One willing to kill. There is no heroism for Cain, he seeks his fortune.
1. Pilot

**Wheel of Fortune**

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 **This story is based off of Boku No Hero Academia**

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 **This story includes death, violence, injury, blood, drug use, sexual topics, and harsh language. Rating is not subject to change.**

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 **This work and its characters are not fictional, their stories and their struggles are very real. But they are not of your world. They are of a world similar yet vastly different from ours. Due to this any resemblance to people living or dead from your world is unintentional and unavoidable.**

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 **Enjoy**

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 _Pilot_

 _The man who would be king._

The squeal of tires and the bestial roar of an engine drowned out the noise of the city cast in darkness. Neon lights flew past at breakneck speed as the vehicle tore down the bustling streets. Dozens of flashing billboards and signs illuminated the glimmering steel of the motorcycle as it kicked up sparks.

The heavy wheels spun at unbelievable speeds, every now and then they would bounce over a puddle or swerve to avoid a blurred car; the rider paid it no mind. The dark jacket of the driver billowed wildly as the wind cut into their racing form; their face obscured by a tinted motorcycle helmet. A dangerously large revolver was strapped to their hip, the barrel gleaming in the pink and purple lights that faded in and out.

A motorcycle was uncommon in Japan, the massive waves of traffic that came with such a huge Japanese city made them inconvenient at best; a hazard at worst. However this rider handled the cruiser with a grace that struck bystanders with awe. The dark hued vehicle swerved back and forth, slipping between the stocky cars as if it was second nature.

A terrified scream pierced the night as the motorcycle nearly collided with a woman who had taken the chance to cross the street. The driver narrowly avoided her, the bike sliding past her with little more than a few inches of space. The young blonde could only watch with wide eyes and frazzled hair as the biker disappeared into the glow of the city. They had gotten so close that she could feel the air current created by the cruiser. A police officer was forced to pick her up and remove her from the street so that traffic could resume.

The dials on the display of the motorcycle shook wildly, going well above a safe and legal speed. The chassis rattled against the heavy boots struck into the footrest, the pure power surging out of the engine clear for all to see. The rider kept their back straight and his finger clutching the bars of the cruiser like the hilt of a weapon. It was doubtless that this man was a professional; nobody else could exude such confidence by poise alone.

Nobody dared stop them, they knew better. Police turned the other way, passersby kept their heads down and their eyes forward. In the light of the morning sun justice and logic ruled, but when neon killed the sunlight only the strong were king. The strongest man ruled under the moon. Hero or villain, do gooder or terrorist; whoever they were it didn't matter. Law simply faded into the background while chaos and freedom took the reins.

A smirk grew under the helmet. That was just how he liked it.

No rules to play by, no heroes to intervene. Only the most dedicated heroes dared to brave the nights, but they could never cover the entire sprawling city. Even villains were hesitant to crawl out of their holes and into the streets at this time. When the clock dropped into darkness even a villain could fall victim to a hero who had finally snapped under the weight of society; someone who had come searching for a taste of the other side. Such was the life of the city.

Perhaps when he was a younger man he would pounce on the opportunity to seize the night; to live in true freedom. The luster of the lights and the greed of humanity would entrap a lesser man like a snake of temptation. Sadly he was no petty criminal nor was he a hero searching for his fame. Crime would always come alive in these darkened street corners, but it was not his problem and certainly not his concern. No, he only had one thing on his mind, one purpose, one target.

One contract.

Explosions trumped the roar of the bike, a bright orange glow billowing far away in a denser area of the city. The deep rumble could be felt even from here, seconds later the shockwave ripped across the streets in the form of a low magnitude rumble. Civilians stumbled and screamed in shock, fingers and phones being pointed at the sight.

Sirens wailed as the few authorities courageous enough to endure this hive of scum and villainy began pursuing the shining beacon in the night. A villain attack was something that could not be ignored regardless of the time. Countless lives were at stake, and the night had only just begun.

The plume of flame reflected eerily off the visor of the biker. The tires screeched, kicking up asphalt and a puddle of water as the driver skidded into an intersection change. The bike bellowed as the throttle was wrenched hard, the front wheel heaving off the ground in a shower of rain water and tar as the wheel spun like mad. The axle slammed back into the road and the bike shot off; its red tailights leaving a light trail as the mechanical beast careened toward the explosion.

With his prey so close he didn't dare slow.

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Curtis Mayfield was not having a good day by any means. First his bank robbery was ruined by the appearance of a hero; some chickenshit greenhorn who thought he could prance around the night like he owned the place. Then his business partner went off the deep end for some fucking reason and lit every bomb he was carrying on his person. Considering he had made the frankly stupid decision to partner up with the infamous 'Explosive Bozo', the resulting aftermath was quite catastrophic.

Both he and the hero ending up biting it along with around 2 tons of dynamite that he was planning to use for his escape. It was amazing how quickly shit hit the fan; one moment he was rolling in pounds of cash, the next he was buried under the remnants of a bank. All the money was gone as well; no tears would be shed for the innocents caught in the detonation, but he would drink himself into a stupor over the sheer amount of wasted dough.

It took him a solid minute to heave himself from the debris, only his foresight to bring a barricade along for the heist kept him alive. As soon as he tossed aside the last pillar Curtis grimaced as he found himself facing dozens of police officers, each with their guns trained on him and the flashes of police cruisers lights illuminating their uniforms. The clicks of safeties falling rang out like a symphony as Curtis stared down a veritable firing squad.

Curtis was no stranger to the business end of a gun; heavens knew he had seen his fair share in his… "endeavors." Usually one of the unfortunate women he had decided to use had attempted to pull one on him, or some kid with a grudge over a murdered parent. It never frightened him before, and it certainly didn't now.

Even more people stepped up from beside the pigs. With the spandex and flashy colors, it wasn't hard to guess just who these schmucks were. Even more heroes.

All in all, it was a pretty shitty night.

The loudspeaker of one of the cars crackled to life, "Get down on your knees with your hands behind your head!"

Curtis scoffed. Like hell would he willingly give himself up, if those pigs wanted to take him in then they would have to fight for it. Wary glances were exchanged between the authorities as Curtis made no moves. Their fingers jittered along the trigger-guards; only years of discipline keeping them from opening fire on the man dressed in a wife beater and jeans.

Tasers sprung to life as their charges were activated by shaking hands of the men dressed in blue; the sound similar to an old bulb camera taking a picture. The arcing blue light pointed at the villain; showing him that they meant business. A timer went down in the heads of all the coppers, ten seconds. If he didn't comply in ten seconds then they would taze Curtis until he shit himself in the street and then some.

Slowly, so as not to startle the gunmen, Curtis raised his hands up; the palms facing toward the line of police and heroes. Despite his action he couldn't hide the giddiness bubbling inside him nor the smirk etched on his face. Keeping the arduous movement he placed his hands on the back of his shaved head.

Silence reigned as the seconds ticked by. The city itself seemed to hold its breath in anticipation for not even the clamor of the streets reached these ruins. Only the crackling of the ever growing fire around him filled the silence.

Sweat poured down the faces of the men and women who were watching him; none dared move to wipe it away. Their eyes grew bloodshot as time slowed to a crawl, the only thing they could focus on was the villain in their line of fire.

Then, like a bomb, there was the audible tick and time spun back into motion

The clothing on Curtis exploded outward, torn to shreds and reduced to nothing; only the pants remained to secure his privacy. The skin of his chest and arms roiled and rocked as if they were a great storm, the muscles underneath the skin expanding outward and becoming undefined. Bystanders could only watch wide eyed as the man turned into a horrendous balloon of flesh, but as soon as it came it disappeared.

The flesh exploded outward, the slabs of skin went flying into the fires and skittered along the ground. Red splattered over the walls as if paint had been violently thrown skyward. Many of the observers heaved and vomited at the sight. It was inhumane, and what was left over of the grisly explosion perfectly matched that description. Curtis had become a hulking mass of pure muscle, no skin was left over; only the crimson, glistering meat of human muscle. It bulged outwards and seemed to scream power in a hundred different ways.

The lanky, washed up man from before ceased to exist. Flimsy flesh disappeared to be replaced with muscle twice the size of the heaviest bodybuilder. All that was left was a villain made entirely out of nightmares.

Shock echoed through the line of police cruisers, only their revolving lights brightening the ever tightening noose of darkness. Guns lowered as men and women stared in disbelief at the sight. They were ignorant of the dangers that lurked in the night away from the searching eyes of justice. They were ignorant of the things that laid low in wait and crawled free when the sun fell.

The night didn't care for their ignorance. It would swallow them up all the same.

Yellow, scum caked teeth grinned at the shocked police as Curtis' hazel eyes peered down at them like they were mere ants in the court of a king. Ants he would squash with no remorse. The staredown continued for a few more seconds before one of the heroes, one with blonde hair and blue linen, bravely stepped forward.

"We gave you a chance, Villain! Now it's time to face justice!"

His words bolstered the other heroes nearby, their trembles crushed under their unwavering loyalty to good. They all stepped forward as one, their stride echoing out and sending life into the onlookers. Small cheers were slung toward them as they passed, spurring them on even further. Four heroes could handle one villain easily.

Mayfield scoffed as the heroes formed a line in front of him, though it came out much more demonic and seemed to echo off itself. All thoughts of escape flew from his mind. His flesh had been blown off; leaving behind only the muscle beneath it. Even the smallest air current cut into it like a hot knife. To compensate his brain nearly drowned itself in endorphins to null the pain. While it served its purpose, it also dangerously warped his lucidity and and tore all sane reason from his mind.

The only thing on his mind was releasing the pent up anger from this shitty day.

Blondie rushed forward, his feet kicking off the ground with a cloud of dust. He closed the distance between them in a matter of seconds, his speed inhuman. Another hero, a woman with long scarlet hair, followed him at a slower but still startlingly fast speed. When blondie was but a few feet away he reeled his fist back and threw it forward with a yell of heroism.

His knuckles collided solidly against the side of the red behemoths skull, a shockwave blasting out as he put all his strength behind his fist. The sheer power behind it could flatten metal.

Sadly it did no such thing. Blondie widened his eyes; it felt as though he had punched a solid, unyielding wall of flesh. The slightly warped smirk of the villain met his horrified gaze. Before he could even register anything else he felt knuckles slam into the underside of his jaw; the force more than enough to crack his jaw and dislocate his teeth in a spray of blood and spit. His limp body was forced upward a few feet by the uppercut until powerful fingers wrapped around his leg.

Using his grip on the dazed hero's leg, Curtis swung him behind his back; the body flailing in his hand. Just as fast as he did that, he threw Blondie forward like a medieval flail. The redhead could only gasp in shock as her fellow hero was swung at her like a weapon. She couldn't hope to get out of the way, not with the speed she was moving at.

Blondie slammed into Redheads stomach. The horrible sound of cracking and splintering bone screamed out as Redheads ribcage collapsed and Blondies spine snapped like a twig. Curtis released his vice grip on the crumpled leg of the man allowing both of them to sail away with the force of the swing and crash into a pile of rubble. Two problems solved, just like that.

The two remaining heroes immediately stopped, shock and terror written all over their faces. In less than three seconds this monstrosity had wrecked two heroes with little effort. They were rooted to the spot, unable to move forward or retreat; especially now that Curtis' gaze was on them.

Curtis chuckled, "Oh? So now you're getting cold feet?" His manic grin was kicked up a notch. "Tough shit."

Now he was on the offensive. His enhanced feet pounded off the ground, putting out speed that a bulky form like his never should have been able to achieve. In less than a second he was upon the third hero, his form crouched so that his wild grin was level with the horrified hero. The cloaked hero stumbled back in shock at his speed; his fingers fumbling for the steel balls strapped to his waist.

The hero gasped as he felt himself be forcibly swept off his feet; a massive, meaty foot slamming into the sides of his of his legs and depositing him in the air. Before he could even scream Curtis smashed his fist into his stomach, hard. The strike slammed the hero into the stony ground, his body creating a small crater. Before he could even groan through his collapsed lungs a red tinged foot rose over his face before speeding downward.

Civilians screamed in horror and disgust as the hero's face was reduced to little more than a blood-splattered smear on the ground. This was the last straw for the police; they shook themselves from their stupor and opened fire. Dozens of gunshots rang out; their report illuminating the night with every pull of a trigger. None stopped until their clip ran dry, though some still tried to fire long after the slide of their gun fell back.

When the smoke of their barrels cleared out, hearts fell into pits of ice. Curtis wasn't even slightly harmed by the gunshots. No, even in his drugged state he had the brains of a villain.

The final hero hung suspended in his grip, the man's body nearly blocking the hulking form of the villain. The hero was limp in his grip; a multitude of holes scattered around his body leaked blood lazily. The few bullets that did hit Curtis seemed to do little to no damage. Despair clung to the line of police at the sight of what remained of the heroes.

Curtis chuckled madly, his demonic voice cutting deep into their hearts. His eyes rolled back in pure ecstasy; never would he ever grow tired of the feeling that came with taking a life. The electric charge of adrenaline that boiled his bloodstream was something he could easily become addicted to. Curtis dropped the hero to the floor like a sack of potatoes. The corpse shuddered in its death throes, the head bouncing off the cold ground. Crimson ichor and a more disgusting fluid pooled around the once hero.

"Weak! All of you! Nothing more than fodder for my hunger!" Curtis reeled his foot back before driving it into the side of the corpse at his feet, sending him flying down the street like a ragdoll. The villain started breathing heavily; his voice grating on engorged vocal cords. His head snapped to the side; his eyes staring holes into the few police who hadn't lost their lunch.

A new, primal terror clawed at their fading resolve. They were the targets of the villains wrath now. While many of them had special strength at their disposal, it was nothing compared to what even the most basic hero could achieve. Seeing how four of those already had their foot in the grave did not instill confidence. While Curtis did seem hesitant to outrightly approach them when they still had weapons and unknown powers on their sides, that would not last long.

The aging police chief, Hannon, nudged the officer beside him; a young man with little experience in the field. Hannon hated that the kid had to be present for villain attack like this, but he had little control of criminals. The best he could do was adapt and strategize as he always had. Though he couldn't do that if half his force was cowering like a bunch of schoolgirls.

"Will!" His voice was a powerful whisper; commanding respect and bolstering spirits. The kid looked at him in shock. "This is too much for us to handle, we'll keep his attention. Get in the car and radio in help."

"B-but sir-" A glare from the old man immediately shut him down. There was no way they could handle this villain with the men here. If he didn't do this then Curtis would rampage until sunup; killing god knows how many people. The weight of his task came crashing down on him like a ton of bricks.

The old man tucked his triple-barrel shotgun under his arm before taking a few cautious steps forward. A shivering hand clamped onto his shoulder before he could move any further. He swiveled his head to come face-to-face with the young cadet.

"S-s-sir. Who should I c-call?"

Hannon looked down for a moment, seriously thinking the question over. Normally they would call for backup from the station; a criminal was nothing a few extra guns couldn't handle. Sadly this was no ordinary criminal, he was hardly even an ordinary villain. This was a bonafide hero killer; a villain with a power that crowned them as king of the streets. Hannon was loathe to call for help from the heroes; the humiliation of begging for help from the heroes would tarnish the force forever. The purpose of the authorities was to uphold law and justice; if they couldn't even do that then what was the point of having a police force? Why not leave it to the heroes?

But this was more important than their pride. If this bastard made it out of this area then dozens would surely die; hero and civilian alike. That was something Hannon absolutely could not let happen.

"Call the heroes. Tell them we've got a hero killer down here."

Will nodded shakily before slowly backing up to the car door, waiting for the signal. Hannon smiled; sure the kid was a greenhorn, but he could follow orders. The officer readjusted his shotgun before stepping out of the line of policemen. His boots clacked off the ground; all attention being drawn to him.

"Give yourself up villain! You're outnumbered and outmatched!"

Curtis looked at him incredulously his eyes narrowing to slits. Then, like a geyser, he burst into a fit of laughter. His meaty arms clutched at his stomach as he reeled with every booming chuckle.

"Outmatched!? What a laugh! You're a funny guy, pig!" The police glared at his arrogance, but made no moves. He slowly eased off his fit of joy; tears streaming down his flayed cheeks. "So funny, that I almost want to save you for last."

"Almost." Like lightning, Curtis struck. His arm snapped out toward Hannon, the inconspicuous rock in his grip being launched at the chief with insane speeds. Nobody could even track the stone; it was moving at too great a speed.

CRACK!

Curtis gnashed his teeth as he watched the stone clatter to the ground uselessly. Just before it could crush the chief's head a wall of pure asphalt burst from the ground, intercepting the attack. It was as if the earth had a mind of its own and lurched forward like a living creature. Further cracking noises filled the air as the asphalt gave way and fell into a pile of rubble, revealing a heavily breathing Hannon.

Hannon glared through the sweat running down his brow. This was much worse than he could have ever imagined. Only his **Strange Highways** saved him from certain death. If he had been even a second slower…

Hannon cut his hand forward; his palm facing the villain. With the sound of earth giving way, the road rumbled and cascaded in on itself. Curtis took a step back to save himself from falling. To his surprise the black-top surged forward to his foot, the road twisting itself and coiling around his foot; anchoring him to the point. Curtis slung his right arm down to free himself; only for more of the asphalt to lash out and ensnare his arm. The meaty villain continued to struggle but only managed to get himself further entangled when a rough tendril slipped around his neck and remaining appendages.

Curtis ceased his stubborn struggle and loosed an angry growl. His brown orbs stared at the officer who was nearly drooling over himself from the exertion **Strange Highways** put his body through. Curtis snarled again as he found that he could not move even an inch. The tar had wrapped around every joint in his body; locking him in place. This was bad, if he didn't get out then he would be easy picking for whatever hero appeared next.

"Give it up boy! My **Strange Highways** won't let you go until I say so! This is the end!" Hannon wheezed the words out.

Unlike most villains; Curtis was no fool who panicked like a rat when cornered. He would find a way to get out of this, no man made prison could hold Curtis Mayfield. With narrowed eyes he inspected the asphalt he was entrapped by; every now and then it seemed to coil around him tighter. He scrutinized the pale man who still had his arm outstretched toward him; but no more tendrils were forthcoming.

That alone was odd. The pig had no doubt seen what he was capable of, if Curtis was in his position then he would wrap him up with asphalt until he couldn't breathe. Based on the veins popping out of the old man's wrinkled skin it wasn't for fault of not trying. Slowly Curtis' eyes widened as he realized the secret of his power.

Then he grinned.

"Oi… Old man." Hannon flinched at his words, but did not let up. "Your Quirk… It's pretty shitty, isnt it?"

Hannon growled, but his voice held a worried edge. "Shut the hell up, Villain."

"The ability to control asphalt would be a pretty scary quirk in this day and age. Hell, I could see a pro hero using it." Curtis laughed until he had to struggle for breath. "But it's not simply tar control. Is it?"

"Shut. Up." Hannon pushed his arm further at the skinless monster, but no black tendrils heeded his command.

Curtis released a smirk of pure contempt, "The secret of your quirk is movement." The chief took a step back in fear, his mustache quivering as his one advantage was ripped apart. "Your palm creates an area of reaction. If anything moves in that area then the asphalt strikes to stop it. Pretty clever, but ultimately useless."

Hannon quivered in his boots at the mirth in the villain's eyes. Murmurs bubbled up from the crowd at the villains words, the policemen grit their teeth or cursed their luck; of all the times a smart villain could show up…

"So you know the secret of my **Strange Highways.** So what?!" Hannon found the strength to smile despite how his heart trembled. "You're still trapped and I don't plan to let up! Knowing wont do you any good!"

Curtis merely smirked.

Rage exploded on Hannon's face, "What the fuck are you smirking for you f-!"

The sound of trembling footsteps had heads snapping to the shadows; wide eyes staring into the darkness. With the sound of splattering blood and throaty gasps a figure emerged. The blue chain suit and the blood streaked blonde hair made it obvious who it was. Blondie had not died from the last attack, though from the agony written on his face he probably wished he had.

"You fucking villain." His body gave a few more tremors as it struggled to stay standing; a feat in and of itself. "No more death! This ends now!" With a fire exploding behind his eyes Blondie flung himself at the villain. While he was slower than before the hero still held deadly strength in speed. He had underestimated the villain before. It would not happen again.

"Wait! No, kid! Don't-!" Hannon screamed in horror as the hero charged Curtis, but his plea fell on deaf ears.

When Blondie landed but a few feet from Curtis, the unthinkable happened. The vice grip of stone on the villain receded instantly and then struck; the asphalt tendrils lashing like a whip. Blondie couldn't even gasp before the snakes of tar coiled around his arms, legs, torso, and neck. Police and civilian alike watched with gaping mouths as the hero struggled against the asphalt in the air. Curtis had been still as stone, **Strange Highways** only detected the movement of the overzealous Blondie. With only one target in range the asphalt has disentangled with the skinless villain to pounce on the hero. Curtis now stood a free man.

He didn't even waste a second. Curtis' muscular right arm snapped backward before he brought it around his body like a sledgehammer and slammed it into one of the few remaining pillars that had made up the bank. Cracks spiraled through the pillar from the strike, but it held strong. The few remaining strands of tar ensnared his hand, but he paid it no mind. His left arm came next, the muscle finally pummeling the pillar into a shower of marble rocks.

Hannon contorted his face in an indescribable emotion as his **Strange Highways** began to spasm uncontrollably. The hundreds of falling pebbles overloaded its motion sensing powers; the asphalt lunged at every single minute movement until they were little more than strands of tar. Never in all his years had he been played like this.

Curtis revealed his disgusting teeth as the asphalt wrenched away from him to attack the pebbles. With his new found freedom the villain snatched a rock from the air, his muscles bulging dangerously. Before anyone could scream a warning he snapped his arm forward; the rock ripping from his hand with wild abandon.

Time seemed to slow for Hannon as the stone connected with his outstretched palm. He could feel every tear of his skin and every crushed bone as the sheer force of the projectile crumpled his arm like paper. His eyes grew bloodshot as his wrist broke and pushed all the way through his arm into his elbow. Blood spewed from the flesh as it burst open under the weight; showering his clothing in crimson.

Hannon screamed and collapsed to his knees; his useless arm clutched in his remaining hand. He kept on screaming until he foamed at the mouth, the pure anguish of his voice ripping into the gathered crowd. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, pure white sclera staring at the villain. The body slumped forward; unconscious.

Blondie stared in shock as the asphalt snakes crumbled into nothingness; the quirk no longer being supplemented by the police chief. The hero fell to his knees his eyes dimming with the despair that clung to the area like a disease. He didn't save anyone. He only managed to get more people hurt.

He barely registered the heavy foot that loomed behind his head. The red heel barreled down into his skull; slamming his face into the road. Curtis ground his heel into the back of his head, relishing the chance to do such a thing to a hero. It only took a moment longer before the hero stopped struggling.

Curtis looked over his masterpiece; with the endorphins slowly wearing off he could truly enjoy what he had wrought. A demolished bank, a street covered in fire, four corpses, one almost-corpse, and a boatload of horrified pigs. That coupled with the fleeing civilians served to turn this day into one hell of a memory.

He stepped down off the flattened skull of the hero, toward the wavering line of police. They took one step back. He took another, they stumbled to take two in retreat. Curtis couldn't stop the sniggers that rocked his body. This was everything he could have ever wanted. Never before had he truly tested his powers; he merely used them to intimidate people who stepped onto his turf or have his way with the unfortunate on a bad day. But this feeling of utter power…! It was more intoxicating than the chemicals his brain swam in.

He felt like the king of the world. Nothing could stop him now. Heroes meant nothing to him; not when he had this magnificent power on his side. He stood unstoppable, his strength infallible, his power unbeatable.

He was god.

Sadly as with all good things, it must come to an end. The rush of drugs his brain created had begun to wane; soon he would be very vulnerable. That coupled with the fact that more heroes were undoubtedly on their way meant that he couldn't stick around much longer. Curtis would find somewhere to lie low so his minor healing factor could return his skin. Then he would wait until night fell again so that he could live as he intended.

He turned his menacing eyes to the pigs and grinned as they flinched under his gaze. Of course, the night was still young. He could have a little more fun decimating these poor souls with his godlike powers. A benevolent god Curtis Mayfield was not.

Curtis' voice boomed over the ruins, "You are all here today for one reason. To meet your end!" The men and women exchanged glances with each other. That confirmed it; he wasn't planning on letting any of them leave here alive. "But you are still horribly ignorant! You heart's still do not hold true fear!" Confusion rippled through the crowd as Curtis turned his gaze to the neon horizon. "So before I kill you, I will make you understand."

"You will all learn to fear my Quirk: **Mighty Fall!** " When they fell into the afterlife they would still be singing the praises of his godly quirk; his name would best both life and death. His power would echo for centuries. There would be no doubt that Curtis Mayfield was _god._ Drool poured down his chin as the villain salivated copiously at the mere thought.

With that he began moving toward the paralyzed men; his footsteps pounded off the ground with murderous intent. The furthest forward of the officers hastily reloaded his pistol with shaky hands, his breath came out fast and short. When he finally finished he pointed the weapon at the bulky devil who was but a few yards from him.

"S-stop!" Curtis did no such thing, he merely smirked in amusement at the man's daring. "Stop dammit!" He fired off a round; the bullet punching into the shoulder of pure muscle. Curtis grunted and took a step back, but then immediately returned to his stride. His face betrayed only minor annoyance at the coppers impudence.

The policeman screamed as meaty fingers wrapped around his head easily and yanked him from the ground. He was held at arm's length; suspended by the finger gripping his skull. Tears streamed down the man's face as he wet himself in the presence of the monster who had killed so many people without even a second thought.

"W-wait! Please stop!" An even younger police officer pushed his way to the front of the frightened men, his face screamed terror but he still did not stop until he was a few feet outside of Curtis' reach. "Please! No more death! W-we understand!"

"Will stop it! Get away from him!" The other constables tried to stop him by pulling him back, but Will shook off their hands.

"We surrender! Just, please! No more death!" He could barely speak through the tears and snot streaming down his face.

Curtis looked at him long and hard with his brown orbs. Will shuddered; it was if he was facing down death itself. When it felt like eternity had passed, Curtis spoke.

"You know what kid? I'm impressed. It takes a whole lotta courage to swallow your pride and say that." The skinless face softened as he spoke. "Respect for your betters is something most of you pigs don't understand."

Hope blossomed on Will's face; the end of the carnage and destruction in sight.

"But…" The outstretched hand squeezed; the scream was cut down when the older cops head was crushed between his fingers like a grape. Will could only stare with a hanging mouth and horror filled eyes as blood splattered across his face. "I never did like grovelers."

Slowly his engorged hand reached down to the paralyzed young man. Will wouldn't be able to resist, not with his will so thoroughly broken. Psychotic glee stretched the muscular face of Curtis at what he had wrought. He was going to enjoy delivering divine justice. His fingers edged ever closer to the pale, fear stricken young man.

The piercing squeal of tires had Curtis stopping abruptly; his hand mere inches from Will. The sound of a rumbling engine ripped into the silent despair of the ruins with ferocity that an inanimate object should not possess. It was as if a lion had stepped into the arena and began to exude its superiority over the masses. That did not make the self-proclaimed god happy in the slightest. Curtis slowly craned his neck toward the disturbance with anger written all over his face. He did not take kindly to being interrupted when he was having the time of his life.

Illuminated by the dying fire was a steel-black cruiser type motorcycle that complimented the bright lights of the city. Its engine spoke in a guttural, yet thunderous retort, every now and then it would seem to crackle like a heartbeat; only far louder. The rider showed no sign that he was bothered by the rumbling and roaring of the engine nor the waves of heat that seemed to roll off its polished chassis. He merely kept his hands on the throttle and slowly swiveled his head to take in the wreckage wrought by Curtis' quirk and late partner. The sight of the hellfire and damnation reflected in the soulless visor was one that the people gathered would not soon forget.

It only took a second longer before the biker helmet was pointed Curtis' way. If Curtis was capable of sweating he would be doing so copiously. He couldn't see them, but he could feel the eyes of the driver staring deep into him. Curtis didn't know what this feeling in his heart was, but he hated it. He refused to believe that someone blessed with divine strength could ever feel trepidation merely in the presence of another. With the knowledge of his own strength in heart Curtis stepped toward the bike with a wide grin; the uneasiness in his stomach fading away as if it was never there. Despite the confidence Curtis exuded, the mysterious stranger showed no sign that he cared.

"Yet another fucking hero. You'd think by now you guys would know when to call it quits." Curtis snapped his gaze to the police. One of them must have called for help when he wasn't looking, it made no difference. He settled his maddened gaze back on the impassive rider. "I'm feeling generous today. Take your scooter and get the fuck outta here before I dent your head in." One escapee didn't matter to him; after all, he needed at least one person alive to tell the tale of his power.

Yet the rider seemed to ignore his benevolence completely, instead he merely continued to stare infuriatingly silently at Curtis. The helmet betrayed nothing; it was like being stared down by a roman statue. A few seconds passed before a vein inexplicably popped on Curtis' head. Interrupting him was one thing, but this bastard had the gall to outright ignore him? His eyes grew bloodshot and his fangs grit hard enough to crack the enamel, all thought of letting the stranger live flew out the window.

With a growl Curtis reeled back his arm before flinging the forgotten corpse in his hand at the rider. The stranger didn't even flinch and the helmet made no moves as the crumpled body flew past his head; missing by mere inches. Curtis growled at his atrocious aim, the biker hadn't even done anything yet and he had made him angrier than he had been all week.

Curtis' eyes twitched wildly as he stared down the motorcycle; the police completely forgotten in favor of the new arrival. Just what kind of hero was he even supposed to be anyway? He had never even heard of this schmuck, so they were undoubtedly as weak as the other fools. Regardless of his lack of strength, the "Strong and Silent" approach caused his blood to boil and his pulse to skyrocket.

"You dare stand against Curtis Mayfield…?!" With anger exploding out with every step, Curtis marched out of the police blockade. His enraged footsteps imprinted into the wartorn road until his path took him to the middle of the ruins where this had all started. His furious form now stood just opposite of the biker, the police and onlookers were off to the sides like spectators to a sport. With that simple action Curtis had turned his personal playground into a coliseum.

The biker finally reacted to his words, the helmet snapped downward as if glaring at him; Curtis felt like prey in a tiger's den. The entire area grew colder, almost as though fall had given way to winter. Whatever Curtis had said, it had gotten the bikers attention. He didn't know why, but he wished he could take it back.

 _Recommended listening:_ _ **M.O.O.N - Paris**_

Slowly the mysterious stranger pulled his left hand from the cruisers handle and steadily lowered it to the obscured side of the rumbling machine. Curtis eyed them with confusion as the sound of snapping metal and unhooking chains rang through the air. Each sound played at the heartstrings of the onlookers, they were enraptured by every minute movement of the faceless man.

At length the noises ended, Curtis let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The visor returned to staring at him while the rider hauled something off the side of his cruiser. The shadows from the waning fire made it impossible to tell just what it was, but it was cylindrical in shape and easily as long as the man was tall. The helmeted person showed an expert finesse as he shifted the object to his right hand and slipped it underneath an arm. The front of the cylinder stared down Curtis as his eyes slowly widened in shock.

The fire went out and the purple and blue lights of the city took complete control; flooding the streets with its luminescence. With the newfound light Curtis found himself taking a step back in shock. With the cylindrical barrel, the sights, and the trigger, Curtis knew it was no mere object the biker had pulled out; it was a weapon. The barrel of the grey finished gun stared Curtis down; dozens of holes were inlaid in the muzzle and promised devastation. It was a masterpiece of technology and war; it was terrifying and abominable.

"W-wait a second-" The rider was silent, the villains plea falling on deaf ears as he pressed down the trigger with finality.

The sound of buzzing electricity filled the air as the gatling gun hummed to life; the barrel beginning to slowly spin until it reached top speed. With an ear-splitting roar the minigun exploded to life with the sound of a thousand guns discharging. Streaks of orange light erupted from the whirling muzzle and closed in on Curtis. The shocked villain could only throw his arms over his head before the supersonic barrage collided with him. Civilians screamed and covered their ears at the roar of the weapon and its brutal indiscriminate destruction.

With every bullet that struck the general area downrange a cloud of dust and soot would grow ever larger; each shot veritably exploding on impact. The blanket of smoke completely obscured Curtis, but it didn't matter, anything in the general area would receive the brunt of the weapon. It was inaccurate but deadly and efficient in its disposal of rounds. Empty shells clattered to the ground in a metal waterfall as the gatling gun relentlessly spat out bullet after bullet with killing intent. With every released round the muzzle would light up with bright flashes that were reflected back by the ever impassive biking helmet.

When it felt like eternity had passed the barrel slowly spun to a stop; its reserves completely drained. Steam rose from the barrel as it glowed red hot, a testament to the sheer firepower it had thrown. The biker wasted no time in slamming the gun back onto its rack on the side of his cruiser. With decisive movements he turned the keys of the motorcycle; the constant growl of the engine fading away into nothingness. A boot snapped the kickstand down and the biker pulled himself from the low-slung seat.

The man took purposeful strides toward the massive cloud of smoke; his black leather jacket swished in the wind and the holster underneath it jingled with every step. The police stared at the stranger with shock and tears in their eyes. If the biker hadn't shown up then they would have no doubt been mince meat. In one minute the man had done something that none of them had the courage nor the power to do. He had crushed a hero-killer, he had surmounted a being made entirely of fear without hesitation.

The civilians exchanged excited whispers amongst themselves as they admired the imposing figure the biker cut. It quickly became obvious that this was no hero, not with the odd clothing or the fact that he was still a total enigma to them. He had exploded onto the scene with a vibrating roar, yet the aura of cold, silent steel he exuded was a stark contrast from their saviors in capes and their heroic mantras. In this day and age an unknown hero was an impossibility. Perhaps he was a vigilante? Whoever this was, he had handled a hero-killer where four other heroes had failed. Even if it was such a simple solution they couldn't stop themselves from feeling hope and relief at the end of the harrowing experience.

Though that quickly turned to dread as the faceless man stopped a few feet away from the smoke. The visor stared deep into the smog for a moment; the reflection across the glass on the helmet revealing nothing. Quick as a flash the rider snapped his hand to his hip and unholstered the large revolver from his hip. Its silver framework glinted in the city lights as the man let it hang loose at his side.

Hearts dropped into stomachs as the stranger placed a gloved thumb over the hammer and slowly pulled it down with an audible _click._ At that moment those present knew that this wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot.

A tense moment passed as the man stared deep into the fog, searching for something. Onlookers held their breath as they watched in rapt attention as the smoke slowly danced in the wind. Curtis was somewhere in there, hurt perhaps, but still very dangerous. He was probably pissed off as well; if Curtis survived then there would be no stopping the enraged destruction that would follow. The biker didn't seem bothered in the least by the fear that pervaded the ruins. Then, almost as if all those explosives had gone off once more, the silence was shattered.

The smoke exploded away as Curtis flung himself from the smog like a missile. His bloodied face was contorted in pure rage; his eyes reduced to pools of white and his mouth permanently locked in a snarl. Multiple holes covered his body and poured out blood, but the most important parts of his body had been protected by his hands and arms. Even still the muscle of his legs and arms seemed only partially damaged, almost as if the bullets had not completely pierced through.

Curtis brought his taut arm around himself in midair before bringing it around in a devastating horizontal arc. Wind roared as every ounce of the villains strength was put behind the blow. The rider threw himself forward; his body diving into a roll just beneath the wrecking ball of an attack. Curtis growled at his failed attack. With the pain from the bullets dampening his mind the only thing he cared about was crushing that biker and his helmet into nothingness.

Not wasting any more time the stranger rolled into a crouch mere feet behind Curtis. Every movement he made was calculated and held professionalism that no hero could ever produce, with remarkable speed and pinpoint accuracy, he pointed his revolver at the Curtis' leg.

The sound of the revolver discharging was deafening; the pure power behind the shot obvious in how high the recoil threw it skyward. Curtis screamed in agony as the round punched through the side of his foot and tore his achilles tendon apart. He collapsed to one knee on his injured leg with a throaty gasp.

The armed man did not let up; holstering his revolver and pouncing from his crouch he pulled a thin wire from his jacket and wrapped both ends around his hands once. With practiced efficiency he reached over the dazed Curtis' head and pulled the wire taut against his neck before crossing his arms. Curtis let out a strangled squeal as the steely wire tightened irrevocably.

Curtis staggered to his feet with panicked movements; his fingers clawing at his neck to alleviate the pressure that was crushing his windpipe. The stranger held onto the wire as he was hoisted from the ground, his grip around the steel the only thing tethering him to the skinless giant. Curtis stampeded around desperately to remove the man from his back, but no matter how hard he threw himself around the visor continued to stare into the back of his head. Curtis drooled over himself as the world began to blacken around him.

With desperation in his eyes, Curtis threw his head backward with all his strength. The back of his skull slammed against the biking helmet of the stranger with devastating force that only a man on the brink of death could achieve. The air was filled with a piercing snapping sound as the helmet was riddled with cracks from the sheer force of the attack. The stranger's head snapped backward as he reeled from the headbutt; his grip loosening on the wire.

Curtis took his opening and slapped his monstrous hands around the arms of the stranger. With a wheezing roar he threw the man over his head with as much force he could muster. The wire slipped from his grasp as the stranger was flung away from the villain. He only remained airborne for a moment before he crashed into the road and tumbled like a ragdoll. Curtis staggered as oxygen assaulted his nearly wrecked throat.

Meanwhile the stranger skid to a stop and began slowly pushing himself off the ground with slow movements. Once he was on his feet he turned toward the retching villain. Curtis was lost in his own world of pain, so the man had time. Fissures spread out along the front of his biking helmet; the glass was nearly shattered from the last attack. It was totaled, he wouldn't be able to see his own hands if he continued to wear it. With no small amount of agitation he pressed both his hands to either side of the helmet and lifted.

With the helmet gone the onlookers could finally see the identity of the man who was saving them. A handsome face with a sharp features stared down the road with furrowed brows. Short black hair hung from his head, black as pitch; the same color was dotted around his face in the form of stubble. His pupils were painted a deep red and gave him the appearance of a demon as they narrowed with concentration. Despite the rather inappropriate timing, the few females in the crowd gained a dreamy look in their eyes.

A powerful vigilante suited in black with feral eyes.

Curtis finally gathered enough strength to haul himself to his shaky legs. His body twitched ceaselessly as he stared down the man who had put him through hell these last few moments.

"You bastard…" The words came out in a venomous hiss, "Look what you've done to me… I won't rest until you've felt the same pain I have." Curtis raked his fingers across his own chest as if to incite fear in the biker, "With my **Mighty fall** I will-"

Civilians screamed in shock as the deafening _bang_ of a the heavy revolver shattered the monologue. Curtis' head snapped backward as the heavy round slammed into his forehead and drove into the taut flesh with a spew of blood. Smoke slowly slid from the muzzle of the glinting revolver in the black-haired man's grip.

"You talk too much." The stranger said the words as if he were commenting on the weather, though his deep voice was threatening nonetheless. "If you're gonna kill me then do it."

Curtis staggered back a few steps before coming to a stop; his entire body shuddering uncontrollably. With a concentrated effort his head fell forward and bobbed for a moment as he fought to gain his bearings. Slowly Curtis pulled his eyes up far enough to reveal the hatred that brewed in his bulging eyes. A deep black hole was etched into his muscular forehead; blood slowly drained free from it. Mere centimeters into the cavity the golden butt of a magnum round was found nestled in the muscle of his head, seemingly halted by the involuntary contractions in the flesh. Most likely that was the reason he had crawled out of the initial gatling gun barrage. The man holstered the offending weapon again, the action pushing Curtis off the edge.

Curtis screamed an inarticulate roar before bursting forward to crush the fool who dared to harm him. Wind howled through his ears as he closed in with his sworn enemy. With all his might he shot his fist toward the stranger, the man barely dodged by kicking his feet off the ground. Curtis' fist plowed into the asphalt, leaving behind a few cracks in its wake. Curtis cursed under his breath; the sheer amount of injuries he had accumulated coupled with his waning endorphin rush had handicapped him greatly. No longer did he move as fast or strike as hard as a god, not with how his body ached.

"Goddamnit!" Curtis rounded on his opponent and threw blow after blow with overwhelming speed, but none so much as grazed the elusive adversary. With his gloved fists pulled up close to his face and his body taking on a boxers stance he bobbed and weaved through the onslaught of rage and destruction as if he had done it a thousand times. Curtis was basically screaming now as he pulled his right arm back and slammed it forward as hard as his fading body could muster.

The stranger seemed to finally grow tired of the endless dance; instead of dodging he snapped up his left arm and rammed the base of his palm into the side of Curtis' fist. Dozens of eyes widened as the ruinous blow was knocked completely off course along with Curtis' concentration. In the split second that followed the disablement of the attack the biker stepped forward and brought the back of his right hand down across Curtis' face in a vicious backhand. Curtis was made all too aware of the true nature of those gloves as he felt his jaw nearly snap off.

Lurching forward the man brought his other arm forward in an even more dangerous jab. Curtis quickly recovered and yanked his arm into a vertical position; the heavy punch glanced off the side of muscular arm doing little damage. The rider brought his other fist around in a heavy hook that scraped over the two arms Curtis had pulled into a boxer's block. For the first time the man showed irritation as his right fist tightened and thrusted into Curtis' exposed abdomen, eliciting a growl of pain and the collapse of his block for a moment; just long enough for the stranger to drive his left hook into the side of his face with a satisfying _crack._

Keeping with the pace of his beatdown the biker threw his right arm in another jab, only to grimace in shock when the heavily breathing villain's fingers latched onto it from the side. With the grip Curtis ran his fist into the side of the man's face and took endless enjoyment when his head snapped to the side and a grunt fell from his throat.

Advancing to the staggered man's side, Curtis wrenched his hand from the bikers arm and slung it into the side of his ribs, taking him even further off balance and eliciting a small spray of blood from his mouth. With the newfound opening Curtis happily clasped his hands together and threw his arms upward, his intertwined fists slamming into the underside of the man's jaw, knocking him off his feet and throwing him a distance.

With the scales of battle turned Curtis stomped forward, intending to capitalize before the fallen stranger could do anything else unexpected. With a grunt the prone man pulled his feet over his head before throwing them forward, the action creating enough momentum to toss him to his feet without pointless fumbling. Using the small moment of shock the man quickly pushed his feet off the ground so that he was parallel with Curtis. With gritted teeth he reeled his left arm back before thrusting it at the skinless face.

Curtis blocked the attack with his own arm sneering evilly as his free hand clenched and nearly decapitated the stranger with a powerful jab. The man stumbled back clutching his jaw in pain.

"You're slow old man! You're too weak! You really think you can beat my **Mighty Fall** like this?!" Curtis jabbed his finger at the stranger as he slowly picked himself up. "But you know what?! This is starting to get fun! Hurry up and pull out your quirk so that I don't have to feel bad when I beat your corpse to pieces!" A thin lie, he wouldn't lose a second of sleep over it.

The stranger spat out a glob of blood as he cracked his own neck in annoyance. "I don't need any quirk to kick your shit in. Put up your fists." Despite the hits he had taken, blatant amusement danced in his eyes.

Curtis' eyes flashed with indignation before he pounced on the man like a pissed wolverine. The rider sidestepped it by a wide margin, leaving Curtis to desperately recover from the attack as his opponent circled behind him. With a bellow Curtis whipped around as fast he could, his outstretched arm following closely. The man dodged under the spread fingers of Curtis' open-handed swipe, once again putting him behind the quickly tiring villain. With fury in his eyes Curtis used his still raised arm to thrust an elbow behind his head, the stranger snapped forth his forearm and blocked it.

Using the inertia Curtis followed through and spun once more while brandishing his own forearm. The two like limbs crashed into each other; fighting for dominance. After a tense moment where they glared holes into each other Curtis yanked his arm back so he could reel back his other fist for what would be a punch. The stranger anticipated this, instead of dodging or blocking he stepped forward as close he could and pulled his own hands back.

With pulverizing strength the biker slammed the heel of both his palms into either side of Curtis' head, right on top of his ears. Curtis screamed as he immediately stumbled backwards with his head clutched between his hands, his face scrunched up in agony. The world exploded into white while ringing assaulted his senses.

Cracking his knuckles, the biker glared at the agonized villain. "Your quirk is pretty impressive, i've got to say. But not even a quirk like that can strengthen your ears." The man stared long and hard at Curtis as he slowly regained his bearings. "I'm done playing around."

Curtis had barely begun to stand up when he felt a heel slam into his face, crushing his tender cheek and loosening a tooth. Planting a foot back into the ground the stranger pulled his fist back before drilling it as hard as he could into the taut stomach of the villain; nearly bowling him over. As soon as he pulled his fist out another quickly followed in a hook that had blood and spittle splattering over the ground in a gory shower, then another. Curtis was in hell; the onslaught seemed to never end.

The bystanders meanwhile were enraptured. It was morbidly satisfying to watch as the man who had put the highest of fears in their heart was reduced to a punching bag. They eagerly whispered amongst each other in relief and joy. They didn't know who this man was, but he was doing what they had been convinced was impossible. All without even using his quirk once, an idea completely unheard of in this day and age.

For those present their idea of what a hero was had changed drastically. Before they only knew heroes as the people who pulled crime off the street and stopped up traffic. People with shining smiles and inspiring speeches. Now they knew that it nothing so simple, true heroism was something they all felt on a deep emotional level as they watched the biker go toe to toe with the god. They would of course see a hero again someday, but it would never invoke the feeling they had been blessed with on that night.

That man may not have been a hero by name, but to them he couldn't have been anything but.

The stranger stumbled back as Curtis finally took the offensive, though this time it was obvious he didn't intend to give it up under any circumstances. Molten red fists rained down in a hail of pure unfiltered rage as Curtis recreated the minigun that had started this all. The biker was forced to backpedal as each fist either glanced off him or slammed into his arms heavily while the villain slowly stalked forward. While terribly inaccurate in Curtis' frenzied state it more than made up for that with the sheer frequency at which he struck. It seemed that the peril Curtis was in had pushed his brain into overdrive, forcing it to create even more endorphins. To Curtis it was almost as if the world had slowed down; everything being put into crystal clarity as he rained down his barrage.

"!" Curtis gasped as the sound of crunching stone reached his ears and the ground beneath his right foot gave away. His entire body lurched to a stop, along with his punches, as his foot sunk into the ground a few inches. Wide wild eyes stared at the disturbance in disbelief. _Of all the times for faulty paving to-!_

Curtis' thoughts screeched to a halt while he watched helplessly as the stranger reeled back his fist. Real, tangible fear clutched Curtis' heart in cold claws as it tore through the air with the sole purpose to take him down. The hardened knuckles collided directly with his nose, crushing the tender flesh to a pulp. With the drugs still flooding his brain everything felt slowed down to Curtis. He could feel every single snap and crunch of his bones in slowed time; every second felt like an hour as he was forced to watch as his face was nearly flattened. His thoughts screamed to end the torture for if it went on any longer he would surely go insane.

Then, contradictory to how slow it started, it came to an end; Curtis' head snapped backward along with his blood as he staggered backward with a howl of pain. Time sped up for Curtis as he tried to put as much space between him and the stranger as he could. Any thoughts of retaliation fled from his mind, the only thing he could care about right now was ending the pain.

The stranger took a moment to steady his quickened breathing. That barrage of punches Curtis had thrown at him would have no doubt been the end if that opening hadn't presented itself. Gnashing his teeth together the man reached down and picked up a long piece of unearthed rebar, giving it a few swings to test it as he followed Curtis' retreat.

Curtis had finally begun to retake his crumbling ego, but was completely unprepared when he caught sight of the stranger closing the distance with a menacing piece of steel in his hand. With panic in his eyes and terror in his face Curtis threw a hook in hopes of stopping him. That idea was quickly cut down when the rider swiftly ducked under the blow as if he had expected it.

With his expression ever unchanging the stranger crossed his right arm over his chest, bringing the rebar behind his head. Venom glinted in his red eyes as he brought the steel around with ruthless speed. The rebar slammed over both of Curtis' dangerously exposed kneecaps, basically crushing the bone into powder with one swing. With a strangled screech Curtis crumpled to his knees.

Standing to his full height, the stranger pulled the rebar back once more before bringing it around in a deadly arc. The steel bar connected solidly against the side of Curtis' head; nearly denting his skull in. With an audible _snap_ the steel split apart as the man followed through with the swing; the bar now considerably shorter. Before Curtis could even think of recovering the stranger raised the shortened rebar over his head before sinking it into the exposed shoulder of the villain. As expected it didn't pierce very far, but the scream of pain showed that it did its job.

Silence reigned as the stranger admired his handiwork. Curtis swayed from his kneeling position; countless injuries dotted his skinless body, each leaking enough blood to kill a normal person. Whatever his face once was had been replaced with an abused slab of mutilated meat; the barest glints of white revealing the chipped teeth and glazed eyes. Curtis seemed to no longer register anything, he was too far gone.

The nameless man meanwhile was no worse for wear. He still loomed over the villain with a predatory posture and exuded that same frightening indescribable aura. Crimson liquid slid down his face and bruises dotted his cheeks, but if he was affected by it he didn't show it. His ever unchanging glare burned into the pathetic excuse that was Curtis Mayfield as his hand slowly unholstered his revolver. With one fluid movement the muzzle was pressed into the hole in Curtis' forehead; the hammer cocked back in anticipation of culling another victim.

Despite gazing at Death himself, Curtis' mind fled from despair. Every inch of his body boiled in a maelstrom of burning hatred as his twisted orbs narrowed. This man had taken everything from him, he was meant to be god! Steam began to roll off his exposed muscle as a primal instinct seized complete control of his mind. With the cry from the crowd cheering for his demise playing at his ears, cold fury began to rip self preservation to shreds. First he would kill the stranger, then he would crush those ants for daring to look down on him. Any thoughts of escape had been long forgotten.

Faster than he had ever moved in his entire life, Curtis threw his fist skyward with a burst of energy. His hand smacked into the bottom of the revolver like a mallet, painting the stranger's face with shock. Both his arm and pistol were forced to point skyward as a _bang_ reverberated through the night; the magnum round blasting off harmlessly into the inky black sky. With renewed ferocity Curtis flung himself atop the biker; his right hand wrapping around his throat in a vice grip. Using his weight, Curtis forced him into the ground where he would have no hope of overpowering him.

Gloved fingers clawed at flayed muscle as the biker attempted to relieve the merciless pressure on his throat; strangled gasps coming from his mouth and his eyes twitching. His right hand uselessly tugged at the grip on his neck and his left pushed against the villains seething face. Curtis, so lost in his own insanity, reached to his shoulder with his free hand and wrenched the steel rebar from his flesh without so much as a flinch. He brought the steel up over his head before stabbing it downward.

The biker let out a strangled scream as the rebar tore through the palm of his left hand; impaling the appendage and driving it into the stony ground. The steel went straight out the back of his palm and through the floor, pinning him to the spot. Curtis used his now free hand to intensify the hold around the stranger's throat. The villain began twitching like a malfunctioning robot as he loomed over the soon to be corpse; he couldn't stop smiling nor did he want to.

The onlookers watched as their hope was slowly snuffed out. It had only taken a second for the scales to tip drastically; Curtis and the immense power of his quirk ate away at the will of the stranger. Panic seized them for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, if he died then it would be all over for them. Curtis would track them to the ends of the earth for what they had witnessed that day. In an incredible show of unity that city dwellers rarely had, the people began yelling and pleading for the biker to fight back, to get up.

The mans movements began to slow; his clawing becoming more sluggish and desperate. Despite how pale his face was becoming, the glare and anger in his eyes didn't dissipate in the slightest. Not a trace of fear was etched in him; anxiety perhaps, but this man simply refused to show fear in Curtis' presence. Slowly his eyes began to dim and his heart began to slow; of all the places he thought he would die, under the hands of some two-bit villain was not one of them.

 _Recommended Listening:_ _ **Perturbator - Miami Disco**_

The sound of high pitched whistling reached the ears of both grounded fighters; the sound akin to a broken flute. Both narrowed their eyes in confusion as it slowly grew louder, as if it was nearing closer. Even the civilians swung their heads in uncertainty at the noise.

"Wh-" With the sound of exploding flesh Curtis' words were cut off abruptly. His skinless ear exploded in a burst of blood and chunks of raining flesh as something tore through it like a hot knife. After blowing apart his ear the whistling object drilled into the ground mere inches from the stranger's head. His eyes snapped to regard the hole in disbelief, clearly taken aback as well. Nestled into the stone was a heavily dented magnum round; the exact same that he had misfired into the air.

Curtis' grip loosened considerably as he choked on his own gasp of pain and disbelief, just long enough for the biker to act. Despite the fact he was near inches from death he pulled his legs up and planted them into both of the villain shoulders. With a growl his legs shoved Curtis up and off of him, alleviating the weight that had kept him pinned to the ground. Curtis staggered as he was forced to his feet in his lightheaded state; what remained of his ear pressed in by his shaking hands.

The black-haired man remained on the ground, massaging his reddened throat in pain. This wasn't the first time he had been on death's door, but it never got easier. After taking in deep lungfuls of oxygen he shakily reached over to the shard of rebar his hand was impaled on.

Curtis continued to stagger backwards; each time he thought he had regained his balance the world would fall away and he would struggle to put his feet behind himself before he fell. The loss of his ear had completely shattered his concentration, now the once proud villain was reduced to frantic floundering like a fish out of water. In his daze he hadn't realized he had stumbled further into the ruins until it was too late.

"Ghhk-!" Curtis' eyes widened as his legs finally gave out and he plummeted into one of the few upright sections of the fence that had made up the leveled bank. The feeling of something piercing the back of his throat nearly had him biting his tongue in agony. One of the spikes that had made up the top of the fence had curled down during the explosion, creating a deadly horizontal spike trap that he quite literally stumbled into. The muscular villain found himself leaning on the rather sturdy fence with a spike lodged in his neck. Thanks to the reactionary spasms of his muscles it didn't pierce deep; less than a few centimeters, but it was frightening nonetheless. With his wits regained Curtis placed his hands on either side of the fence and began to heave forward.

The sound of a gunshot put an end to his movement with a yell of pain, the bullet denting in his thigh. Curtis raised his bloodshot eyes and was greeted with the sight of the policemen he had so thoroughly frightened now standing a few yards away with defiance in their eyes. The civilians too had moved closer with anger written on their faces; the fear completely erased. Curtis found himself leaned up against a fence, beaten and bloody, staring down a militia of angered civilians. Curtis sneered cruelly, he had nothing to fear from a few civilians and pigs. Their own lack of fear was annoying, but he would soon rectify that.

"What are you looking at you fucking rats?!" Curtis snarled with all the ferocity his abused body could muster. "Come to get your own, huh?! Done hiding behind your savior?!" Despite how he lobbed venom the glares of the men and women remained unchanged. This only served to burst yet another Vein in Curtis' head as he began pulling himself off the fence again. He grinned at the tremors that slunk through his legs. He was shaking at the thought of crushing their heads in with his **Mighty Fall**!

"Arggh!" Curtis' choked scream was drowned out as multiple pistols began to fire into his ever tightening muscles. The police showed discipline long absent that night; shots were fired with calm accuracy and at a tempo that allowed others to reload while continuing the ceaseless firing. Despite the fact that the low caliber rounds did little in the way of damage, Curtis winced as each one was buried in his flesh. His forward motion was put to a complete stop, he simply couldn't move with all the bullets pushing against him. The spike lodged in his neck sunk a millimeter as a bullet slammed his shoulder backward.

A lieu in the onslaught showed itself; some of the pistols either jamming from the repeated fire or others needing to be reloaded. Regardless of the reason Curtis took his chance with renewed desperation as he tried to step forward.

Icy wind slammed into Curtis like a freight train and crushed his advance just like one would. Curtis choked on his own air as he felt himself being slowly forced backward as the gale force winds rushed into him. Blearily he could see that the civilians had begun to take part in the revolt; one held his hands akimbo and seemed to create the tumultuous winds, another seemed to be slowly releasing frozen vapor from her mouth.

Even more civilians stepped in to help, either sending sound waves hurtling his way or chucking rocks with insane speeds. Curtis could not stop the tears of pain as his endorphinless body was subjected to the multitude of quirks. His progress had not only completely stopped but had begun to slowly regress as he was forced into the fence. The spike pierced even further into his neck; despite the contractions of his muscle it couldn't stop a spike if he was pushed onto it.

Is this how it would end? Cornered by a bunch of nobodies in some backwater city in the asscheeks of the planet?! Curtis wanted to scream but found that his face was too numb to do so. This could not be how his story closed! He was god! His **Mighty Fall** was the undeniable ruler of this world!

With his waning strength Curtis ceased his forward struggle and instead began to reach toward the top of the fence. With gasping breaths his fingers found purchase on yet another fence spike, this one blessedly loosened. The spike snapped off and Curtis wrapped his hand around it with a murderous glint in his eyes. The only thing on his mind was ending the man creating these damn gale storms before they killed him. Whatever followed the bastards death was unknown; he would have to wing it. Curtis threw his arm forward hard enough to bowl the wind under his strength if only for a moment. His aim would be true and fatal, leaving no room for mercy.

Curtis' hand exploded into a deluge of meat and blood, the spike in his fist decimated along with it. The scream that followed would no doubt haunt the city for years. Through the tears the villain could only watch as the devil himself stalked forward. Fear, no, _terror_ clawed away at his soul. It was as if he had been dropped into the deepest ocean with no hopes of floating upward.

The stranger stormed upon him with a face that would scare even the hardiest of villains. The murderous glint screamed penance for the sins Curtis had committed in his short life. Clutched in his hands was a smoking triple barreled shotgun; the exact same that the incapacitated police chief had toted. Even though the wind and ice continued to roar forward the man didn't seem to be affected by it in the least. It simply flowed past him to strike Curtis, almost as if it were afraid to touch him. The police finally let up on their pistols to give the stranger the floor, their eyes held respect that they had never even given their superiors.

Curtis held up his hand to plead for his life. "W-wait… Plea-" His remaining had burst as buckshot reduced it to a broken stump. Curtis couldn't even scream; only the sound of air evacuating his lungs slid from his rotten teeth in a pained whispering hiss.

"You think yourself god?" The stranger's voice cut into Curtis more viciously than the biting wind did; he could do naught but focus entirely on it. The man strode forward until he was mere feet away from Curtis, no longer even cautious of what he might have been capable of. Curtis didn't have the energy to feel indignation or anger. Here he was mere feet away from the man who had taken everything away from him, the man who had wrecked his entire existence merely by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. That man stared him down from mere feet and he could feel nothing but terror.

The wind, ice, and stones slowly came to a halt. The civilians had stopped like the police so that they could gaze at the stranger in admiration. Only the biker stood against him now; the gun carelessly tossed to the side. Despite the futility Curtis tried to wrench himself free of the fence that the ice had nearly welded him to. Even mutilated and beaten, all Curtis Mayfield needed was a chance to survive. The stranger did not give him it.

"You are nothing more than an educated fool!"

The man's right foot leapt from the ground with explosive force that had Curtis' heart jumping into his throat. His scream was silenced when the bottom of a boot crashed into his temple, forcing his head to snap backwards. The metal spike tore straight through the back of his throat and out the front in a deluge of crimson that painted the ground with a gory masterpiece.

Curtis could only formulate choking noises as he drowned in his own blood; his throat heaving wildly around the spike that he had been impaled upon. The pain was indescribable, it was almost as if every fiber of his being had been consumed by eternal entropy; a taste of the flames of hell before the main course. His eyes zipped to and fro trying to focus on anything before he was blinded in the encroaching darkness. It was a fruitless endeavor; his heart had already stopped, his mind just didn't know it yet.

The last thing Curtis saw was the gleaming red eyes of the stranger. The last thing he felt was fear. Then nothing.

Swallowed up by the neon night and the animals that crawled through it, another victim was reduced to a corpse. Perhaps one with bloodstained fingers and a twisted heart, but a victim to the temptation of the city all the same. For that was the truth of the world under the moon, every man was a victim of his own desires.

Just as so many before had met this fate, Curtis Mayfield ceased to exist.

* * *

Will watched on with solemn downcast eyes as the police chief was loaded onto the ambulance; his arm cast in a sling. After the defeat of Curtis Mayfield, things had finally began to settle down. Bodies were bagged, reinforcements arrived, and civilians were taken home. The nightmarish hour had finally come to a close.

The young officer had no idea how he was supposed to feel. A part of him felt elation, the horror and death had finally come to an end after all. Another part felt disgust and crushing shame. So many people had died; innocent, _good_ people. He was powerless to help them, they were truly nothing more than ants in the face of that villain. Even Hannon, the man he had looked up to for so long, had nearly lost his life in those streets.

Then there was the matter with the mysterious stranger, the man who had his mind jumbled in a mess. On one hand he had doubtlessly saved them, if he hadn't appeared then only the worst could have taken place. It wasn't far-fetched to say that he owed him his life.

But he was an officer of the law, a sworn upholder of justice. That stranger had taken the life of the villain without even a second thought; snuffing out his breathing with a swift and vicious strike. That dashed any chance that he was a hero; the one thing heroes swore to avoid was taking a life. No matter how deserving the bastard was of death, Will's nature could only see it as a stain on Japan and law itself that he had been killed so callously. It was an insult to the uniform for someone else to take justice into their own hands.

Tears dripped down his cheeks. Well, those were the thoughts and ideals he used to hold, now he wasn't so sure. Will had taken the chief's orders to heart and radioed in for help, desperately begging over the airwaves for assistance from any nearby heroes. They had acknowledged his request and even promised to send whatever help they could.

Nobody ever came.

It wasn't until Curtis' body finally stopped shivering that the heroes appeared; far too late to save anyone. Not even Nana Shimura had swooped in as she always had. Will couldn't comprehend it; he had always admired heroes and what they did, who wouldn't? Yet they still didn't come when people needed them most. He couldn't rely on them to save the people when scum like Curtis threatened their lives. In that moment, that stranger was the only person who stepped up against corruption; he was the only one who acted when all others couldn't.

That stranger had gained his respect in a way that Will never thought someone could. Perhaps he did kill Curtis, but Will no longer saw it as a crime. Curtis would only break out someday and wreak havoc if he was incarcerated. In some twisted fashion the stranger had done something that Will felt needed to be done, something that heroes couldn't do even if they did come. What was the loss of one life for the sake of countless others?

Perhaps arresting the stranger was the just thing to do, but the idea wasn't one shared by any of the men there. Even if they did seek to chain him, the man had disappeared not long after the first hero arrived; without so much as a word. Just like the heroes of a time long past.

Will knelt and lifted the cracked motorcycle helmet that had been discarded. His youthful face and aged eyes reflected against the cracked glass. He needed to become stronger, much stronger than he was now. So that he no longer needed to rely on the heroes any longer. So that he could be just like the stranger.

* * *

The stranger leaned against his motorcycle in some forgotten alleyway among the Japanese streets. The high terraces and sills looming overhead drenched the area in pitch darkness and remnants of rainwater, the perfect place to lay low. As much as he wanted to get out on the streets again it was obviously not an option. He had taken far too long fighting Curtis and barely made it out of the general area before the heroes appeared, which was lucky since they likely wouldn't let him just walk away. He had no fear of being arrested or jailed; he had enough contacts to escape that fate after all. Still, it would be a major waste of his time to be interrogated now.

A few thugs caught sight of the man sitting on the edge of his cruiser against the dilapidated alley walls. Only years of reading body language and social standing made them rethink their greed spun scheme. A man who could afford a bike like that was no doubt loaded, but no amount of dough was worth dying over. And death was a very prominent possibility with the menacing weapon strapped to his hip.

The deep darkness snapped away as a cheap lighter burst open, its dying orange flame shuddering under the weight of the black alleyway. The stranger brought it close to his face and lit a cigarette held loosely in his mouth with practiced ease. Just as soon as the lighter appeared, it was pocketed in favor of holding the lit cigar. The rider leaned back and puffed out a small cloud of smoke as his free hand fished through his pocket. Almost nothing beat a smoke after a long night of hard work.

Finally finding what he was looking for, the man removed a small flip phone from his pocket; a steel gray color with a deep red line going down its case. Flipping the device open and pressing a few buttons elicited a small ringing chime as he lifted it to his ear. It wasn't long before the ring was replaced with a burst of static and a grainy voice.

"...Yes?"

"Its me."

"Ah…" The male voice took on a much more professional tone as it realized who was behind the blocked number. "I assume you've... _handled_ Mayfield then?"

"Yes. If you want to see it for yourself just wait for the morning news." The man knocked off a few ashes on his cigar before shifting it to the corner of his mouth. Even with a punctured hand the man carried himself with professionalism.

"No need. I trust you enough to have handled it." There was a pause as the man on the other line mulled over his words. "Sounds like you didn't handle it discreetly… Well, no matter. There will be no connection to us."

The stranger remained silent as a few taps sounded along the other line before the voice returned. "We've deposited your pay to your proxy account. You've handled a thorn in our side that we haven't been able to touch for the longest time, so I've included the extra fee as well."

The stranger nodded as he heaved himself from his bike, dragging it around with him so that he could be seated in a driving position. With a quick turn of the ignition the familiar rumble of the engine rolled down the alleyway. The darkness was reduced to nothing as the powerful headlights cut down the alley and into the streets.

The phone crackled as the voice spoke once more, "It was a pleasure doing business with you, Cain Ansen." Then, the line cut out.

* * *

 **A/N: Before we kick off the notes, NO I am not giving up on Will Of One. This is simply a pet project I work on when i'm not working on my main story.**

 **The core idea of writing this story is to sate my undying thirst for action. So many people write for BNHA but they are all predictably similar. More than 80% of BNHA fan fictions are family or romance based. While this is certainly not a bad thing, people like me crave a story outside that norm- a story that can truly capitalize on the sheer variety of action you can create with quirks.**

 **As such, my goal for this story is to have a fight scene in every single chapter. There will of course be romance later on, but the underlying purpose is to open you all up to action. If my story can convince even one person to write a little bit of struggle in their story... then I will die happy.**

 **I also really wanted to write a story with an 80's feel to it. But lets keep that between each other, okay?**

 **:Trivia:  
Strange Highways is based off of a DIO album.  
Mighty Fall is based off a fallout boy song.**


	2. Take 1

_Take 1_

 _Three's a Crowd_

"In other news: Countries are in uproar after the infamous "Scarecrow" unmasks the Bat of Gotham, now known as playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne. Sadly before any comment could be made both Wayne and his Manor were caught in an inexplicable explosion. Investigators are still searching the remains but have concluded there were no survivors, there are no leads on suspects yet but police commissioner Gordon held a-"

The drone of the flickering and stuttering TV fell into the background as Cain dragged his hand up. The palm stood inches from his face, crimson stained cloth obscuring the freshly mended hole in the appendage. Were he to remove the wrapping he would be greeted with the sight of unblemished skin; sensitive, yes, but unharmed. Knuckles creaked and popped as the man clenched his fist, testing it in slow movements. Satisfied, he allowed it to drop onto his bent knees.

The light of the midday sun filtered through cracks in the shades, illuminating the abundance of dust particles in the ward. The near silent sound of moaning and groaning prickled his ears. Should he stand from the bed and brush aside the divider curtains he would be greeted with the sight of dozens of bedridden men and women. Some terribly ill, some horribly injured, some simply losing their grip on sanity. Regardless they were all waiting for the same thing: judgement.

And it would come, the smell of death was veritably stained in this wretched infirmary. Lazy workers coupled with Asia's slow climb out of its depression left very little for a small place like this to work with. Tools just barely passed inspections, walls were thin enough to punch through, and there was a constant weight to the air- almost as if death himself lived here.

He couldn't complain though. For all its downfalls the place was cheap, hardly any cash out of pocket. Not only that but they knew how to keep quiet, you could limp in with 50 bullets in your back and they wouldn't ask questions. Anything not inherently connected to the police or heroes was a godsend in his line of work.

He allowed amusement to dance in his eyes as the steady click of heels neared his divider. Of course, the bedside manner wasn't bad at all either.

The curtains swished away with a flourish, revealing the effeminate figure behind. Pristine skin of white, lively eyes that would turn heads at any event, small glossed lips that before could only be dreamt of. Despite the fact it was slowly greying over, silky smooth hair was put into a bun that ended with stray locks falling over her back. The attire was the simple nurse outfit and cap that seemed to be commonplace in all hospitals, but somehow it accentuated every curve and angle of her body.

So far she was the most beautiful vixen he had met on this side of the great Wall of China. Such a shame she was holed up in a place like this.

The older woman chuckled as she slid her hands into the pockets of the nurse garb. "You finally come back to town and I only hear of it when you get hurt? Whats with you getting into trouble everywhere you go?"

Cain edged a corner up at the jab, "I couldn't help myself, I needed an excuse to see my favorite doctor after all."

Another giggle and a step forward, "Very funny. Give me your hand wise guy"

He was very tempted to make another jest at the poor wording, but a sharp look cut that idea down quickly. Fingers twitched as tender flesh was exposed to stagnant air and a delicate finger traced over the healing hole in the flesh. A small check-up to insure that the healing session had worked and that recovery would go smoothly. Though it was also to insure that the hand would be ready by tonight.

Cain broke the silence seconds later, "It's too bad I have to come to this shithole every time I want to see you …Do you still take house calls?" a joking tone slipped into his words.

Another chuckle, he was quite the comedian today. "By house do you mean a motel? Won't all the roaches be jealous when I come to look after you?"

"Hmph, i'll make sure they don't interrupt us."

"Oh, big strong man, huh? Sorry but i'll pass. I think only _my_ health will be in danger if I go wherever you live."

Cain shrugged his shoulders as fresh bandages wound around his palm. He didn't truly believe she would agree, the byplay was mostly ritual between them now. When he asked her directly she had claimed he was "too young for her" and that being titled a cougar would be bad for business. Other than the grey hair she didn't look a day over 30, but he didn't have a foot to stand on.

As she checked his pulse and eyesight, Cain slipped free a cigarette from his pack of lucky strikes. He pointedly ignored the scathing glare boring into the side of his head as he slipped the paper between his lips.

"This is a hospital. Don't you dare smoke that in here."

He moved his head to avoid the nurse's grasping fingers. "It's not lit, is it?"

Despite his flawless logic, the glare didn't vanish, though she did begrudgingly retract her hand. "Honestly Cain… Your immune system is bad enough as it is. The last thing you need it to keep smoking those."

Cain callously waved off her concern, "I'll take my chances." He was far too stubborn to heed her words of wisdom.

A small silence passed as the nurse scratched a few numbers out on a pad. Cain yawned as he stretched his legs out in front of him, the melodious chirp of a Partridge near the window coaxing out his exhaustion. Before Cain could nod off, she spoke, her tone subdued.

"You know, I won't be here much longer." she gestured around her, "This hospital. I like working here, but…"

How she could like it in this purgatory was beyond him, but that was less pressing right now. He narrowed his eyes in confusion, the unspoken question being received easily.

"I received a request for movement. They're changing my assignment to a hero school. I… I want to work there."

Cain leaned backward a pensive look crossing his face, "Huh."

The nurse gave him a clearly amused look. "Aww, are you tearing up over me? Thats sweet."

Cain waved away the insinuation easily, "Of course not, i'm just worried about who's going to fix me up when I get into trouble now."

"Guess you'll have to learn how to fight without getting hurt, or not get into trouble."

"Good one." the reply was as dry as the look on his face.

A comfortable silence befell the room as the woman packed up all of her tools and Cain donned his jacket. The nurse swiped away the curtain but dithered at the threshold, hesitation in her gait. Only a second passed before she turned back with her eyes closed and a smile on her face that could light up a room.

Neither of them chose to comment on how unlikely it was for them to talk again after this. If she intended to work so closely with heroes then it was best for her future that she had no connection with him.

"Don't worry Cain, with your quirk i'm sure we'll meet again." No joking undertone, just sincerity that only old friends shared.

Cain gave her a small nod, the corner of his mouth turned up. He was a man of few words and little expression, but he felt that he could let a few of his barriers down in her presence.

"I'll see you around, Recovery Girl."

Cain watched her leave. Perhaps when he was younger he would have stopped her or done something chivalrous. But he was getting too old for that, fruitless chasing of intangible things only lead to disaster. Should they never meet again he would rather that her last memory of him wasn't as a love struck guppy

Fingers scratched at facial hair as the mercenary strided down the halls of the sick Bay. Recovery Girl was immediately forgotten as his face returned to its deadly serious state. He had business to take care of, no more getting side-tracked.

* * *

The sun sped across the hazy polluted sky at high speeds as hours passed in the blink of an eye. It was not long before it disappeared over the skyline to be replaced with a glittering half-moon. Rivers of darkness flowed underneath the neon light. Traffic roared and frantic sirens pierced the drunken crowds of people; some tired of staring at the same four walls, others simply looking for easy money.

With it came the near animalistic glee that came with the freedom of the sleeping city. It was a feeling that no outsider could ever understand; it was in your blood, in your moves. Beneath every city was a heart, one that beat in tandem with every person born there. It fueled their desires and granted their darkest wishes.

Cain stepped out into the flickering flood lights lined up along the alley walls. Crimson dripped from his clenched knuckles, a memento of the fool that had attempted to capitalize on a solitary target. Needless to say he was promptly handled, without so much as a bullet too.

The veritable maze of alleyways had led him to a clearing, one filled with unconscious drunkards and suspicious drug peddlers. A few street rats eyed him and his jacket but went back to sleeping in their corners; this was neutral territory, no man was foolish enough to incite a fight here. A few actual rats nipped at his shoes in passing.

The mercenary slid a cigarette between his teeth, the end already lit and dropping ashes. The smoke reflected the image of a black skyline before disappearing into the calm breeze. His gaze drew up to the obnoxiously bright sign over a door in the side of one of the alley walls.

 _Smooth Operator._ A bar, though that was only its purpose on paper. It was one of the few places removed entirely from society; not only were the authorities and heroes completely ignorant to its existence, but it seemed to completely disappear when the sun rose. Should you arrive when it was still light out you would find nothing more than a smooth wall of brick.

Stranger still, when the authorities do end up learning of it, the place simply disappears; one day it will just up and vanish only to pop up in some different country. Some believe it to be a quirk at play, but short legends tell of the business existing long in the past; though at the time it was known as a cafe.

Because of its illusive nature, the bar was a magnet for deadly dangerous criminals and villains. No petty thief dared venture near there, these grounds were only for criminals daring enough to brave the night and cunning enough to take _full_ advantage of it. It was also the only place where villains never dared to cross horns, mostly for fear of the bar disappearing due to their disturbance. It was the only place in the entire city where you could be ensured safety; however short-lived it may be.

It was also the only place where you could meet with contacts without fear of prying eyes. Cain didn't need any truces to protect or shelter him, he could handle his own problems. The _Smooth Operator_ was simply the best place to get a contract, information, or a cold drink.

Rolling his shoulders, the mercenary stepped toward the door. The two burly guards leaning beside the door perked up at his approach, their eyes appraising him. He could easily feel the x-ray quirk washing over him but continued walking forward. Most likely they didn't recognize him, but he more than made up for that with the venom in his crimson eyes. The leftmost bouncer nodded to his companion who dutifully twisted the doorknob.

Both saw the bull-barreled revolver strapped to his hip, but neither bothered to confiscate it. Should he actually be stupid enough to start something then the consequences would come soon enough. He didn't need to be reminded, last thing he needed was the entire hemisphere out for his head because he had an itchy trigger finger.

Smooth jazz rolled out from the opening door as soft light cut out into the street. The velvety tempo and bounce of the music stirred up something inside of him, proof that the bar was welcoming him with open arms. Tossing aside his stub of a cigar, Cain stepped across the threshold.

 _BGM_ : **Angel - Raphael Saadiq**

The first thing that struck him was the smell, a surprisingly delicate scent of some spice with an undertone of cinnamon. It was enough to wash away the scent of danger and blood that flooded the streets. The second was the music, an expert tempo of drums and vocal pitch that mingled well with the muted chatter of the denizens.

Cain swept his eyes across the spacious bar; from the wide open seating area facing a stage where a man sang from his soul, a band backing him, to the alluring dancers and sweeping lights. The entire building seemed to be built from a polished deep brown wood; the establishment seemingly created from material of the highest quality. It was admittedly classy on the surface, less so when you realized every single man and woman there was a criminal.

Ignoring the scouring stares from the villains and the lustful gazes of the femme fatales, Cain began making progress to the meeting point. Places like this were always hit or miss for someone in his line of work. Villains had good reason to despise him, but the brutality and disregard he often gave the authorities won over the majority of the criminal populace. Luckily he didn't have a name for himself yet, but word traveled fast; it wouldn't be long before he became a more central point of attention.

It was best to play it safe for now though, the less attention the easier it was to get a contract done. Blood-red eyes shifted and relocated at just the right moments to avoid eye contact with any of the patrons. His body weaved and slipped between the passerby, never making contact with any clothing and making certain to keep his fingers alert to ward off any pickpocket attempts.

Tables and booths passed by, most containing people indulging in a quick drink or cigar. The place was just as lively and full as he remembered, untouched by the depression. It likely had something to do with how each person there was cut from a sharper cloth, it was almost as if the bar had an economy of its own. Even the drug dealers were more skillful and experienced than the common rabble. Back when he was just getting started as a mercenary he could have sworn he saw the infamous _Blue Sky_ pass hands here.

His destination came into view; a long oak bar counter facing an impressive wall of booze. True to its designation, every drink you could think of was lined up on those shelves. From the tasteless muck of lite beer to the head-screwing tonics of Vodka. Tending the counter with a cloth was a strange man. A luxurious tuxedo with twin coattails made up his outfit, fancy gloves and a sensible pocket watch covered the accessories. But instead of a human face there was simply nothing, only a mass of black mist present where a head should be. Two streaks of cobalt slid through the mass of pitch darkness, eyes, apparently.

Kuroi Kiri, the host for the _Smooth Operator._ Despite its prominence in crime, the bar never had any owners or workers to tend to it, so Kuroi had taken it upon himself to insure it wouldn't fall into disrepair. Should the bar disappear one day, he would track it down and resume his position; a testament to his pledge to the place.

The barkeep was obviously not getting paid for the job, yet he still did it; confusing, but appreciated greatly by the patrons. The only profit he knew the man earned came from the gambling section of the establishment deeper within. Even the bouncers at the door were in the dark about the true nature of the bar, they were simply normal people who thought that this safe haven needed _someone_ to look after it.

If the earth gives to you then it's only natural that you repay it. The cleaner fish removes the meat stuck in a shark's teeth and in return the shark protects it.

Kuroi glanced up at him but continued to clean the tabletop. "Cain Ansen…" his voice sounded like something straight from a horror movie, lesser men would be cowed just by the sound. Thankfully, Cain was not a lesser man. "You know you're still banned from the blackjack table and slot machine, right?"

Cain cringed at the dredged up memories. "You just can't let that go, huh?"

"So long as I want to continue making a profit here, no." Kuroi lightly dragged a gloved finger over the tables polished surface."I heard you came back to the city."

Cain moved up to the counter but resisted leaning on it. The inhuman barkeep took great care in maintaining the _Smooth Operator,_ once he had said that he could hear the building " _purr"_ when he cleaned its tables. Cain knew of a villain that had his fingers broken for scuffing the countertop, so it was better to play it safe.

"You heard?"

Satisfied, Kuroi stepped back and stowed the cloth away. His steely blue gaze directed back to Cain.

"No names and no pictures, but I only know of one Villain hunter that uses a revolver like that."

Cain grimaced as though someone had puked over his bike and moved his eyes back to the talented singer "Rumours."

"Rumours" Kuroi gave the equivalent of a nod.

Cain grunted at the development but decided to file it away for later. It was annoying to get a name so soon, but right now there was nothing for it. He looked the small bar space over for a moment, his eyes misting over in reminisce. The contract could wait for a moment.

"What's happened while I was gone?" his eyes narrowed before he scanned the space again. "Where's the boy?"

A weary sigh left the bartender as he seemed to deflate slightly. He didn't think it was possible before, but it seemed like Kuroi had fallen into his own little depression.

"The boy isn't here right now. Ran away from home about a year ago, haven't seen him since."

Cain narrowed his eyes as he bit down on another cigarette, the shoddy lighter flicking open with a weak flame. "Why? Kid seemed happy last I saw him." At least, he thought he was, the boy was just as inexpressive as his father.

"I couldn't tell you. Teenage angst at work, I suppose." Kuroi slipped a glass from under the table and took a cloth to it. "Probably hoping to strike out as some super villain. He's got aspirations too great for his own good. I keep telling him that, but he never listens"

Cain grunted as he knocked off a few ashes into a tray Kuroi slid to him. "kids."

Another ethereal nod, "kids."

God, he hoped he never had kids. Nothing but trouble they were.

Cain tucked the pack of lucky strikes into the breast pocket of his jacket. Much as he enjoyed talking to an old friend, business came first. A jab of a thumb from the bartender was the only cue he needed to approach the furthest end of the bar.

Velvet red booths were tucked into the corner, small chandeliers hanging overhead beat down with soft light. His keen eyes were drawn to the only occupied booth in the area. Seated comfortably was a man wrapped up in a grey pinstripe suit, his brown stringing hair framing a pair of black aviators. The immaculate man nursed a shot of brandy and seemed lost in his own world. To his side was a beefy wall of a man, he wore the size well- his figure intimidatingly large.

His approach was cut short by that very man, "Where do you think you're going?" His voice was gruff and smelled of tequila, he doubted the man could protect himself let alone his boss.

He didn't have time for this. "Out of my way tubby."

"What the hell did you just-?!"

The businessman seemed to notice the disturbance, he quickly spoke before his henchman could lose his temper, "Xiu, stop. I think this is the man we came here to see."

Xiu looked between the two for a moment, a war clashing on his face. No matter how much he disliked the stranger, he couldn't go against the boss' words.

"Thats right lapdog. Out of the way."

A twitch of the lip, a fist barely restrained. "Get rid of the cigarette first. The boss doesn't like it."

The two glared at each other, the butler unwilling to back down and the boss not speaking up. Cain didn't like to settle like this, he hated to give up ground, but there was little choice here. With a sigh of contempt Cain begrudgingly slipped the cigar free from his mouth, preparing to rid himself of the fresh tobacco.

Not before he pushed his hand forward, the stub of the cigarette stabbing into the pristine dress coat of the bodyguard. With the silent hiss of fire going out the cigar died, but not before burning the suit thoroughly. Xiu could only watch in shocked rage as he twisted the crumpled stub into the suit one more time for good measure.

It was only through the strongest of resistances that Xiu stepped out of the way, his face red and veiny. The calm businessman looked at the arrival with mischief in his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. Cain pocketed the cigar stub and slid into the seat easily, one arm resting on the cool mahogany, another draped over the back of the plush leather.

The man pushed a strand of hair away from his glasses as he regarded his bodyguard. "Leave us." His voice brokered no disagreement. Like an obedient pup, Xiu disappeared with a huff.

His cool shaded gaze turned back to the unimpressed mercenary. "Sorry about Xiu, he means well. I have bad lungs you see, never did too well around smoke."

A small silence as the man finished off his shot. "So… Cain, was it? I honestly didn't believe you existed until a few moments ago. You've become somewhat of an urban legend around here. One that I couldn't believe unless I was at the bottom of a bottle." The bikers intrigue did not go unnoticed. "I was surprised too, from what i hear you've only done one job since you came to this city, correct?"

A small nod was the only answer he received. "I thought as much. That was why I was so insistent on hiring you. Only your legacy is known, hardly anything connects to you except the praise of others who used your, ah, _services_."

"Word on the grapevine is you have quite the experience in the headhunting career… I checked what little records I could get my hands on and sure enough, there you were."

Cain wished he had his own shot of alcohol now. "Rumours."

A chuckle from the business man, "Yes. From what I hear they've taken to calling you the _Lawless Mercenary._ Apparently the name comes from how the authorities can't and _won't_ touch you. A mercenary with the police on his side? Now that's a scary thought."

The reflection over his glasses disappeared, revealing the keen eyes beneath. "Though I must wonder, if the _Lawless_ part is referring to something else…?"

 _That_ got his attention. Cain glared at him guardedly, the man was more dangerous than his first guess had been. He wasn't worried, there was no way he would try anything here. Even if he did, he would have his revolver out and firing before any quirk could be activated.

"Ah! Sorry, I haven't even introduced myself." A pure white glove settled on the wood as another gestured toward himself with an upturned palm. "My name is Thaddeus Thom. Though I understand the need for discretion in this line of work, so please, call me Major Tom."

He wasn't going to do that. But the name sounded familiar, he could've sworn he had heard it in passing once or twice…

"You work for the hero society?"

Thom for his part looked sheepish. "Yes, I do. That is why I look and feel so out of place." Thaddeus slid the glass away from himself so he wouldn't toy with it any longer. "I was recently promoted to a much higher position. It turns out people in my place get let in on a few secrets." His gloved hand gestured all around him. "One of those secrets turned out to be this place, and how we use it."

It made sense. The bar would only disappear if it were under threat, not simply because the law knew it existed. Knowing this the heroes and police wouldn't attack it unless necessary, it would only be a waste of resources. Instead they would use it, spying was near impossible but Thaddeus was proof that even the hero society was willing to get down and dirty for the sake of their justice.

"The hero society uses this place to hire mercenaries when they want villains illegally handled, right?" It was quick, clean, and easy. Nobody would ever know it had taken place. It was a solution without the quagmire of the judicial system.

Thom gave a solemn nod. "Truthfully every bone in my body wishes to see this place torn down, but I see the merits of it now more than ever. There are too many villains getting away out there, sometimes we need to take the measures the heroes can't."

Cain tapped his fingers along the smooth wood, "That's where I come in."

"Yes. Originally I intended to test your quirk, see if it lived up to the legends… But time is of the essence, and enough has been spent talking." Thom reached into the contents of the bag strewn across the table and pulled free a folder. "I know enough about contracting to understand the intricacies. So no need for an explanation. Take care of the target and i'll handle the rest."

Cain smirked and leaned forward, "Now you're talking my language."

The folder slapped onto the table and flipped open, a few slips of paper sliding out. The opened page revealed a wall of writing, picture and locations, times and dates. But most prominent was the three polaroids loosely strewn across the pages. Each separate photo detailed a man, all strikingly similar yet different in their own rights. One boasted a thrilling green mohawk and quite a few scars, another wore a deep brown mullet with side chops and a snakeskin jacket. The final one had a natural brown hairdo, but he was dressed in quite an assortment of furs.

Their facial structure was the same east asian descent, the skin tone and slant of the jawline gave it away easily. Brothers, perhaps triplets- but their wild hairstyles made it near impossible to tell for sure.

"These are the targets." His gloved finger pointed to each one in quick succession, first to the mohawked man, "Alan Chu-lin" then to the mullet, "Giri Chu-lin" and finally it settled upon the furred criminal, "Seth Chu-lin"

Thom spun the portfolio so Cain could get a better look, "Three targets, each incredibly dangerous. Their crimes range from murder and assault to… Slave trafficking." Thaddeus didn't even bother to hide his disgust. "We nearly had them pinned a month ago, but some of the officers assigned to the investigation acquired evidence _illegally."_

The hero society member quickly signaled for another drink, "It didn't hold up in court. They got off scot free and have been in hiding ever since. We only get glimpses of them now and then, but nothing that would break double jeopardy." To accentuate this he gestured to the timestamped photos that depicted blurry people going to and fro in the city. It was obvious the brothers were up to something shifty, but it was impossible to tell what.

Cain listened as he flipped through the admittedly scarce folder. Even with how little paper there was, the crimes were more than enough to send someone to death row. There were quite terrible, but they were too big for three brothers to take on by themselves. Perhaps they were working for a bigger villain? Thanks to his honed memory Cain quickly filed away all the pertinent information, he wouldn't bother with the useless stuff. He would leave that to the boy's in blue.

Cain simply said one thing, "50,000 yen each."

Thom cracked his neck, "Fair enough." A few crisp notes slid across the table, "The rest will come when the job is finished."

Cain pocketed the cash and finally took on a completely serious posture, "Let's talk specifics. Anything come to mind in how you want in handled?"

"No connection to the hero society, though i'm sure you already know that. You can handle it however you see fit, just please don't let innocents get caught in the crossfire." Thaddeus took a swig from his slightly larger glass, "But they need to all be handled in quick succession. I know their type; if they think their lives are in danger they wouldn't hesitate to flee the country." Thom pointed a finger at the mercenary, "However you seek to handle it, I don't care. But they absolutely _cannot_ be allowed to leave this country."

Cain rolled his eyes at that, like hell would he let them escape. The commanding expression wilted as Thaddeus shrunk slightly, "Though, truly, I don't really know what you mean by specifics. This is my first time buying a contract after all."

"I'm talking about how you want the public to see this." Cain gestured with his hands in an explanatory manner, "I can handle them in a way that would pin blame on one of the drug tycoons or rival gangs. If you want I can cover up their deaths as a suicide; overdose or hanging in their rooms."

A mischievous glint crossed Cain's face before flitting off into the cinnamon scented breeze, "I could even plant evidence to put suspicion on a hero or hero society member. If you want." Cain leaned forward, Thom leaned backward. "Of course, this will also cost you an extra 20,000 on top."

Thaddeus looked far more put off than before; his hand shakily adjusting his too tight collar. "God… You mercenaries truly are a world away from society…"

Cain chuckled despite himself, "You don't know the half of it. I used to know a mercenary who would publicly execute a target if the contact wanted it; gallows, guttings, and guillotines- the big three. All he needed in return was a plane ticket out of the country."

Thom shivered and desperately attempted to scrub the images from his brain. "I-i'll pass. I'd rather this be handled conventionally. However you see fit; as I said..."

That was enough, last thing he needed was to scare the poor guy off now. Fingers scratched at stubble as he thought over the contract one last time. Come to think of it, there was something missing from the report.

"Their quirks?"

Thom grimaced and readjusted his aviators, his normal calm returning with a hint of vague irritation. "Unknown."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Believe what you will. These bastards are slippery, if they went out showing off their quirks then the heroes could handle them." Thaddeus took another swig of the burning alcohol, "So far all we know is that Alan has something to do with _water_ , and Seth is associated with _animals._ "

He was flying in blind then. Oh well, nothing he hadn't done before. There was just one question left.

"Dead, or alive?"

Thom grinned as he relaxed into his seat, "Dead. Or make sure they can never commit a crime again." It was obvious, no hero society member would hire a mercenary to take a criminal in alive. If they wanted the villain breathing then they might as well have gotten an agreeable hero to handle it. It was simply a courtesy that all self-respecting mercenaries would give.

It was a good deal for him. He needed the cash, with this he could actually buy something for himself along with food and rent. Not only that but gaining a contact with a hero society member would net him far more contracts in the future. Sure there was challenge to it, three villains was no small task. But only a fool would pass up this opportunity.

Cain nodded once, that one action sealing the fate of three other human beings. "Same place, tomorrow night. Have the money ready."

For once Thom was taken aback, his glasses going askew over his face. "T-tommorow night…?! You can't possibly expect to handle all three of them by then…!?" Cain gave no indication that he was joking. "Its taken us a year to even gather up their crimes! And they're still in hiding!"

Cain glared at the panicking man, "Your confidence is touching. I'll get the job done."

The hero society member swallowed and wiped away the perspiration on his forehead. "A client should not get this involved in his mercenaries work, I know. But just how do you intend to do this in a single day?"

The aging mercenary smirked and stabbed a finger into the portfolio, his nail pointing at the face of the mulleted Giri "To break a chain, you have to hit its weakest link."

* * *

Giri Chu-lin hardly cared for sightseeing, he was the type of man that only craved action and the feel of cash beneath his mattress. But even he could not deny the beauty of the Tokyo skyline as his Mercedes Benz cruised down the Kiyosu bridge. He had wisely delegated the control of the vehicle to his henchman, freeing him to stare out the passenger window. Even though he would soon be taking part in a house raid with his men, Giri sought something to entertain him.

Fishing through his snakeskin jacket, the mobster procured a baggie filled with a couple of sickly green capsules. Wasting no time he ingested them and tossed the empty bag into the back of the car. It didn't take long before a familiar buzzing sensation hit the back of his neck; sending shivers racing down his spine. Drugs had become a mainstay in his life ever since he joined his brothers on their nightly raids. He knew he was addicted, but it felt so good that he couldn't care less. With the world evolving into a more broad color spectrum Giri returned his sight to the window.

Surprisingly the lengthy bridge was nearly devoid of other cars. Only the black civics belonging to his other henchmen and a few late-night commuters trundled along the smooth blacktop. As per usual there were no police cars in sight, allowing them to drive at whatever speed they so wished. All the better, the sooner they got to their destination the sooner he could get his hands on some cold hard cash.

A sneer crossed the man's face, his eyes disappearing behind his black shades. Ever since they had nearly been caught his brothers had stressed the necessity of maintaining a low profile. Grudgingly he agreed, but he could only go so long before the itch for gold came crawling back. He couldn't hold off anymore, he had to get back out there or he would surely go insane. Those damn pigs were no doubt waiting to pounce on him, but he knew a little bit about discretion as well.

They would be in and out. Go in, kill everyone in sight, take any captive, cash or drugs, and run like high hell. A simple plan, but effective. They had yet to be caught after all. His brothers couldn't even argue with how much dough he raked in with these raids. Soon they would be kings, they would have enough money to turn the police into their personal bitches.

His henchman cut his thoughts short, "What the hell…?" He sounded confused more than anything.

Giri was tempted to berate him for interrupting his musings, but something in his passenger window stopped him cold. The image was warped, but the mobster could make out defining shapes. A angular helmet, black biking gear, and a single glowing red eye in the center of said helmet.

In shock he whipped around in his seat, facing the driver's side with sweat beading on his forehead; even his henchman was staring out the window in confusion. Pulling forward on a dark silver motorcycle was a full helmeted biker. He was dangerously close for such a wide open bridge, and he was staring straight through the window at them. The glowing red eye turned out to be a reflection of one of the red lights along the skyline, but it still felt as though it were peering into his very soul. Judging him.

 _Recommended listening -_ **Garth Knight - Breakpoint**

"What is with this asshole…?"

The red eye was gone, but for some reason he was sure two others were watching him. Just before Giri could give his henchman the okay to ram the asshole off the road, the rider returned his attention forward and revved his growling engine. The bike pulled ahead easily.

Giri watched with grit teeth as the motorcycle sped forward, disregarding any speed limit laws.  
Something about that little look he had irritated him to no end. It didn't take long before the biker steadily approached the furthest black car in their caravan. With unswerving ease, he pulled up to its side just like he had done to the Benz. The biker stared into the window before slowly removing his right hand from the handle and leaning backwards.

With a swift movement, the revolver pulled free from his hip flared to life with a deafening report. The window of the black car exploded in a shower of glass shards and blood, the driver dying near instantly. The sheer force of the bullet carried through the back of the dead felons head and into the temple of the passenger. With no one to pilot it the car quickly began to lose control, the front wheels swerving side to side and beginning to lose balance. Wasting no time the stranger peeled away from the harshly destabilizing vehicle.

With a final swerve the car lost all manner of balance, with its tires completely sideways against its forward inertia there was no hope for it. With a squeal the car flipped like a pancake, its speed sent it flying in a corkscrew with the side doors slamming into the bridge with each tumble. Shards of metal, glass, and pieces of steel came flying off as it literally fell apart from its destructive spin.

Only seconds later did Giri realize that his car was directly behind the now flipping one.

"Move you idiot!" His plea came too late to his henchman, they couldn't hope to swerve out of the car's path now. Scrap metal cut into the fine paint job like hot knives, the right side mirror was crushed by an errant tire and the windshield barely held under a fender slamming into it. Miraculously the next flip ended with the car's side slamming into the tar merely a few feet away. Like a spring it bounced up and over the Benz, Giri tracked its arc with shocked eyes.

Sadly the mob car behind him wasn't so lucky. The totaled ball of steel slammed into the front windshield of the tailing one, a scream abruptly cut off. Giri couldn't hope to see it, but he imagined the insides of the vehicle painted red. The speed at which both cars collided had no doubt squashed them like bugs, they probably didn't even know they were dead yet. Both cars tumbled much more but the mob boss chose this moment to focus on his own life and not that of the dead.

"Where?! Where did he go?!" The murderer was nowhere to be found, during his brush with death the motorcycle had escaped his perception. Chu-Lin refused to believe it. There were very few cars around, what with the ensuing carnage and destruction. None of the cars stupid enough to continue driving were large enough to hide the steel beast either.

Unless of course, he wasn't hiding. Giri whipped around in his seat to direct his attention back to the passenger window. As expected he saw the final car of his entourage, and as he predicted he saw the culprit. The growling cruiser was positioned close to the flank of his last set of men, he was planning to cut off all of them.

Despite this, Giri grinned. "I've got you now, you piece of shit!" Whoever this bastard was didn't matter anymore, if he wanted to fuck with him then he would get what was coming. With a sneer on his face the mob boss jammed his finger into the release for the glove compartment.

Only for nothing to happen.

Confusion arced through him as he brought his finger down again, and again, and again, until he finally slammed his fist into it with pure rage. " _Jammed?!"_ He wouldn't be the first to admit that the car was long past its prime, he was well known for collecting antiques after all, but for it to jam now?!

Chu-Lin was forced to watch in frustration and horror as the biker yanked free a steely chain from the side of his bike. With a flourish the chain whipped out to its full length before a steady hand swung it round like a lasso. With a final heaving swing the shiny chain launched forward like a whip; wrapping around the suspension hook of the unsuspecting vehicle with snake like efficiency. The henchman in the car could only panic and throw horribly aimed knives; they too were painfully unarmed.

The surprisingly long string of steel links gave the biker just enough room to hold it behind his speeding form and approach the parapet that divided the bridge from a long drop into the ocean. Giri slammed his foot into the glove compartment over and over, but it was too late. Even if he could get it open he wouldn't be in time to save his men.

With one decisive action the biker tossed the chain into the railing bars, the links wrapping around it like a noose. With a roar the bike surged forward faster than ever before, the doomed car senselessly did the same. As the distance increased the chain grew tighter and tighter until, finally, it snapped taut.

The forward momentum of the car immediately halted, almost as though it had slammed into a brick chain coiled around its suspension easily stopped the speeding car, tearing up the frame at the same time. If the sudden lurch hadn't killed the men, then the still taut chain throwing the vehicle into the parapet like a wrecking ball most certainly did. The force of its side colliding with the short concrete wall was more than enough to pull it off its wheels and send it spinning over the edge of the bridge.

A short scream sounded before the truck and its inhabitants crashed into the brackish waters with concussive weight. Cold water flooded the interior, dragging the machine to the bottom of the lake with only fleeting bubbles signaling its departure.

Only Chu-Lin and his faithful henchman were left.

Something snapped in Giri after seeing the last of his men fly off the bridge. With a roar of rage he brought his designer boot down on the glove compartment with renewed energy. With an audible _snap_ it popped open, revealing the two uzis locked away. Giri didn't even bother to roll the window down, he simply brought the butt of one of the submachine guns down on it; shattering it like hard candy.

Leaning out the missing window Giri leveled both his guns behind his car. The biker was smart, after his last stunt he had wisely pulled back far enough that he wouldn't be in immediate danger but close enough to follow Chu-Lin. Regardless the two destructive weapons sighted down the impassive cruiser.

Two short bursts of hot lead poured out in streams as Giri depressed the triggers. The inaccurate nature of akimbo uzis shined through as the bullets spewed out and peppered the asphalt, but fell short of the biker.

"Damn him!" He was at just the right range that he wouldn't be able to nail him without getting lucky. He wasn't willing to bet on his luck tonight though. "Manny! Floor it! Get us out of here!" Thankfully there was no argument, the car picked up much more speed in an effort of escape. While Giri was tempted to slow so he could properly blast the asshole away, it was far safer to escape for the time being. But he wouldn't let this go, he would track that bastard down to the ends of the earth to repay this embarrassment.

The metallic cruiser easily kept up with their reckless pace but kept well out of the guns effective range. They were past the halfway point for the bridge now. Hardly anybody knew the streets better than him, and there was nothing but a maze once they got off. It would be the perfect chance to lose their unwanted guest.

A blinding gleam of metal made the mob boss widen his eyes in shock before screaming down to his underling, "Manny! Swerve, now!"

The car swerved out of its lane at the exact moment an explosion sounded. Giri could see the remaining side mirror burst into a dozen pieces as a revolver round tore through it like butter. While the biker was outside his range, they were still well in his.

"Keep moving! We're almost there!" True to his word they were closing in on the lip that led to the frighteningly darkened portion of the sprawling city. Long ago this place was considered the heart of Japan, now it was little more than a squatting ground for the poor and villainous. With no toll gate to stop them they barreled forward, the suspension jolting as they bounced over the lip in their hot escape. Giri fell back into his seat and dropped one of his uzis to free up a hand. Moving the rearview mirror Giri could make out the silver beast gaining on them.

But now they were on _his_ turf. "Smoke this bastard." For the first time in awhile, Giri saw his underling grin as his hand found the gear shift.

Racing through the near empty streets of the ghettos was a near impossibility for most seasoned drivers, but Manny made it look easy. Even with half the city in a blackout there was no hiccup in the speedy escape. The black auto turned corners on a dime, it slid past alleyways and ducked through open parks like second nature. Each turn and curve it made didn't slow it in the slightest; it was hitting 5th gear with ease.

Peering up at the mirror revealed what he was hoping to see. The biker and his partner were nowhere to be seen. It didn't matter how skilled they were, they couldn't keep up with him on his own turf. With a relieved sigh, Giri allowed himself to sink into the seat.

How did it end up like this? Just a moment ago he was going to do the biggest raid this year, he was going to be _rich._ Now this happened, and he couldn't even begin to understand why. A rival gang claiming their due? Vengeful family members that he had once wronged? Did those damn commie bastards know they were going to get raided? Or was this just the universe getting back at him for everything he had done?

He didn't know, and the more he racked his brain the less he understood. Giri twisted the gold diamond ring on his finger with blatant worry. Truthfully that didn't matter now. What did matter was getting back to his safe house before the police inevitably came sniffing around. But he would find that bastard no matter what. Giri was far from compassionate, but he did care for his men at some level.

8 of his men dead on the blacktop, all without any noticeable quirk use. Chu-Lin was no fool, this man was dangerous. He hated to do so, but he would need his brothers help to stomp this forest fire out. With a weary hand he removed his shades for a moment to wipe away the growing sweat.

Their speed began to wane as they rumbled down the pitch streets, an overhead bridge thrumming with the sound of passing cars providing some measure of comfort to the exhausted mobber. The clear blue ocean reflected the distant inner city, like a diamond at the bed of a river. Coming off the adrenaline, Giri was reminded of the times he would come to this same spot as a child. For that one precious moment Giri let his guard down, and he paid for it.

A heavy slamming noise from the right shot mobsters heart into his throat, choking him with shock. His eyes whipped to the side as a familiar growling sound tore into his ears. A faceless mask stared back at him, the passing purple lights reflecting off the black glass. He had gotten so close at his most vulnerable moment, it was inconceivable.

Something clicked in his mind as he realized what had happened. They hadn't lost the stranger at all. Instead he had driven his motorcycle off of the bridge they had unknowingly crossed under, putting him right at their doorstep without their knowing. Beneath his shock and horror, Giri realized how horribly wrong he had been.

Whoever this man was, he knew this city even better than he did.

With a roar Giri desperately brought up his uzi, hoping to end the man before he could strike. It never happened. Like a pouncing snake the man's hand lashed out, the finger coiling around the cocking slide and forcing the barrel skyward. A hundred explosions burst from the gun as it unloaded its clip into the speeding cars roof, the surprised henchman desperately tried to control the vehicle with their new freeloader.

Once the gun emptied, an elbow slammed into Giri's chin, loosening his grip on the gun. The biker easily ripped it from his hands and tossed it out of his reach. Giri tried to fight back, but another hand clapped the back of his head and brought it down upon the dashboard, crumpling his nose like paper.

While Giri reeled the biker released his hand and gripped the wheel, forcing it to the side. The henchman had been attempting to divert the car so the motorcycle would get caught by a pole, it didn't work. The dark skinned henchman desperately tried to pry away his fingers, only to receive a backhand to the face for his efforts.

The duo of car and motorcycle peeled down the quickly emptying streets. Just before they could ram into an apartment complex a swift intervention from the biker put them swerving back into the road. It was a deadly exchange. One that would spell death for all involved if even a single mistake was made.

When his head knocked against his bald henchman's, Giri had enough. Peeling his lips back in a feral snarl, Giri cocked his fist and aimed it for that damnable visor. Just before it landed a hand wrapped around its wrist, forcing it to a standstill. The two butted heads as they fought for dominance. Giri only needed to land one hit, he wanted to see that helmet as a splattered mess.

Surprisingly the biker was the first one to give in. His grip on the wrist slowly slackened as his faceless mask raised to regard the driver's seat. Giri didn't try to punch him anymore, a smug grin grew on his face as he realized the reason for the stranger's distress. Manny must have found the uzi he had discarded and was now leveling it at the smug asshole. With his own victorious grin Giri tossed a glance at his compatriot.

Only for his eyes to widen in shock and lead to drop into his stomach. As soon as his eyes turned he was blinded by the luster of painfully bright lights. The roar of a blaring horn nearly burst his eardrum as the world devolved into pure white.

A truck. They were so caught up in their fight that they hadn't paid their surrounding attention. Now they were about to be T-boned by a fucking truck.

The biker immediately acted, the surprise sliding off him like water on a raincoat. His palm pressed flat against the hull of his car and shoved off, moving both he and his machine a good few feet away. Not stopping there, the masked man swung his foot over the beast until both were planted firmly on its seat. Finally, he pushed off.

Giri could only watch in disbelief as the biker bounded off his motorcycle like a tiger. The truck was mere feet away now, he only had seconds. The man's feet impacted with the roof of the car mere milliseconds before the truck slammed into its side like a raging bull. Manny died nearly instantly, the car turning concave and destroying all his innards. Blood, glass, and steel flew in a vortex as the screeching truck tore into the car. The stranger was obviously jarred by the sudden jolt but did not bother to catch his balance. Tucking his arms and legs to his stomach, the man fell diagonally toward the rear end of the crumpling car.

Due of his trajectory the truck missed him by mere inches. He was just in time too, the sheer force of the collision knocked the once pristine car off its wheels, sending it flipping much like the last one had. Since it no longer had a pilot the motorcycle had fallen to its side, tearing up its paint job as it skittered along with its maintained speed. The airborne car flew right over it and the truck barreled past it, sparing it from the carnage.

The car continued to skitter and slide well after the truck had stopped, its suspension torn to pieces as it rolled across the street. A path of glass and metal shards remained in its wake, a trail leading toward a flaming wreck.

The biker was not spared his daring action either. The sheer inertia he still had built up came crashing down on him like a building. His body rolled and tumbled as he tried desperately to avoid getting caught on anything. For the most part he was successful. But he was left hissing out muffled groans while he fidgeted on the ground.

In the span of ten seconds, this intersection had changed into a scene straight from a post-apocalyptic film. From the biker groaning on the tar next to his heavily scratched bike, to the duo of dented truck and thrashed car that sat in piles of flame and glass. The splatter of blood along the ground only served to accentuate this hellish landscape. The only sources of light came from the popping flames and the overbearing neon stretched along the buildings; trapping them like animals in a cage.

Cain let out another moan of pain as his forearm found purchase on the craggy road. The world spun as he slowly forced himself to his feet, his joints cracking as his body righted itself. Long shadows from the overhead skyscrapers and apartment complexes watched him with interest. That was too close for comfort. He would have been crushed like a bug if he hadn't jumped at that very moment.

A sad glance bounced off his bike as its low mewl slowly died down. The poor thing would make it out okay, but it would take forever to get those dents and scratches out. His shrouded eyes traveled back to the flaming wreck of the once proud car. Fingers clenched as the mercenary limped forward. The contract wasn't over until he was certain the target was dead.

The portly trucker came dashing from his vehicle, his mouse-like whiskers quivering in shock and guilt. His hand immediately covered his mouth as he caught sight of the gruesome scene. He hadn't meant for this to happen, the car had simply come out of nowhere. The flip phone in his pocket was out in a flash, three letters punched in with shaking fingers.

Before the call could even be started a rough hand snatched the device from his fingers. The trucker's mouth dropped as he watched a man in a biker helmet snap his phone into two pieces. Cain stared at him for a moment longer, daring him to do anything, before he began stomping toward the crackling wreckage.

The vehicle itself was balanced precariously on its roof. A crude oil dripped down its frame as bits and pieces crumbled off. Crouching and peering through the smashed open windshield revealed the crushed up remains of the once bodyguard. He was completely unrecognizable save the golden teeth that stood out against pried open gums. No visible weaponry and no valuables, strange.

This side was too wrecked to reveal anything, he couldn't even see the passenger seat. Standing from his crouch Cain slowly traced the rear, his eyes scanning for his prey. Once again he crouched near the open door and gazed inward. It was even easier to see the carnage on this side, but there was no sign of any snakeskin jacket.

He wasn't here.

Cain was on his feet in a flash, his eyes widening as the wind came crashing into him like a tsunami. The mercenary barely torqued his body in time to avoid the fist that came flying in at insane speeds. Fortunate that he did, the strike instead impacted with the side of the wrecked car.

In a feat of impossibility, the already totaled car caved in further as it was sent spiraling down the street like a spinning top. The trucker that had come out to investigate wisely retreated at the sight. Cain bounced back a step as he witnessed the incredulity. Sweat slid down his fingertips as the steel corpse slowly spun to a stop, even slower his gaze traced up the bloodied outfit of his target.

The mercenary and mob boss stared eachother down, the distance too great to close with a single stride from either party. Despite having multiple lacerations and bruises, the hateful and crazed glare from Giri was smouldering. His fists remained clenched at his sides as he watched the slowly recovering Cain. Giri had barely been able to pull himself free from the crushed car and he had lost more blood than he was comfortable with.

"What… the hell... do you want." Giri growled through his crimson stained teeth.

Cain shook off his surprise and cocked his head as if he had been asked what year it was, "Payment." The reply was simple, if slightly muffled.

It was enough, Giri understood just what the man was now. A mercenary hired to take his life, or a bounty hunter after whatever price was on his head. It only served to increase the rage brewing in his blackened heart. Once he made it out of this he would find whoever bought this asshole and make sure they ate their own entrails.

First, he would break this scooter-riding assholes spine.

Cain struck hard and fast, his fist came crashing down toward Giri's head at breakneck speeds. Before it could connect the mob boss caught it with his forearm, the wrist locking against bone. In retaliation Chu-Lin struck with a jab, landing it straight into Cain's unprotected ribs. The mercenary gasped as air was forcefully ejected from his lungs and fell back a step on the blacktop.

Giri raised his hand to capitalize on his advantage but only found a hard shoulder slamming into his solar plexus, forcing him to stumble backward and take a heavy spinning backhand across the face. A satisfying mist of blood flew into the air as Giri screamed through the pain. A foot found its way into his knee, knocking him to the ground for a few precious moments as the biker leered over him.

The mob boss peered up from his kneeling position as he cradled his jaw. Cain produced a small thick pipe from his jacket, the cool metal reflecting a passing car's headlamp. Snapping it to the side extended it a good deal, the overlaying metal snapping into erect positions. With another movement Cain brought the baton over his head and brought it crashing down.

Giri snapped out of his daze in an instant. He was on his feet and bouncing to Cain's unprotected flank before he could even finish the arc. Chu-Lin grinned at the stunned visor as he cocked his fist at his hip before driving it forward.

Whatever air that was in the area exploded away as the fist made contact with Cain's chest. The mercenary hung suspended in the air as the strike ground into him before he was forcefully blown away. It was almost as though a bomb had gone off right in his face. The biker once again tumbled helplessly in the aftermath as he tried to regain his senses.

Cain slowly slid to a stop against the curb. The world flew around him as he desperately tried to fill his lungs with oxygen. He didn't understand, the last punch he had taken barely fazed him. Now it felt like he had been hit by that truck.

Relaxing his posture, Giri allowed a smug smile to shine out. "Surprised?" His pants swished as he slowly approached the struggling Cain. "Don't try and wrap your little head around it. You will never understand." Stopping a few feet away, Giri wrapped a hand around his own waist and hovered a few fingers over his face. He always loved to showboat every now and then, in this instance, it felt so gratifying.

"You are a victim of my quirk! **Money For Nothing!** You lost the second you got off your bike, Mercenary!" Keeping his hand over his face Chu-Lin pointed a finger at Cain as he staggered to his feet. "For every hit you dish out, I store it away so that I can use it later! Meaning that I can use it whenever I so please!"

He couldn't see the bikers face, but he just knew there was shock written there. "Not only that, **Money For Nothing** also has interest! Meaning that every strike you give me is doubled before I give it back!"

Giri grinned widely as he spread his fingers out like a gladiator, "Attack me all you like! I'll give it right back with double the power!"

Cain grimaced beneath his helmet as he finally realized the quirk he was facing. That was truly dangerous for his method of fighting. He would need to end Giri in one strike if he wanted any chance of getting out of this without horrible maiming. He glanced at the revolver still faithfully clinging to his hip. It could work, but he would have to catch his target off guard to ensure the shot wouldn't go awry. Giri was far too fast and wily to be caught by such a simple solution.

Pounding his fist into his palm, Cain stepped forward. He would just have to wing it like always.

"Ohoh! Come on then! You'll pay in blood for the men I lost!" Giri stomped toward his sworn enemy with a fire in his eyes.

The two clashed fast and hard. A knee drilled into Cain's stomach and another was barely blocked before it crashed into his helmet. If nothing else, the mob boss knew how to handle himself in a fight. But Cain's own experience shined through. Two jabs loosened Giri's teeth before an axe kick nearly decapitated him on the spot. Nursing the gash on the back of his head Giri fell back and scrambled along the ground in hasty retreat.

Cain didn't follow, instead he crossed his arms over his helmet as Giri righted himself. The loose gravel clenched in his hand exploded outward as Chu-Lin flung it with the might of three attacks doubled. The sheer force was just short of a buckshot, the gravel dug into flesh and tore through clothes with ease. Cain slid backward from the strength of the attack alone, a hiss tearing from his throat.

Snapping into a dash, Cain brought his fist down in a wide haymaker. Knuckles met palm as Chu-Lin barely raised his hand in time to halt the strike. The remaining fist lashed out against the dark biker helmet with all the grace of a freight train, sending the mercenary spinning on the spot. It seemed that Giri didn't have to take the hit directly to convert it with his **Money For Nothing.**

Before the mobster could capitalize on his advantage a heavy boot slammed into his face, further ruining his already warped nose. With a hoarse croak he fell back a couple steps, freeing up Cain's breathing room. Like hell would he just give up ground like that though. Slipping a finger into his snakeskin jacket revealed the hilt of a dangerously sharp knife. Using the accumulated strength of his quirk Giri launched the knife with all his might.

With a heavy _bang_ Giri was forced to cover his ears and watch in shock as the knife flew in a high arc, embedding a couple feet away in the tar. Cain was standing defiantly with his smoking revolver in hand. He had pulled it out, cocked the hammer back, aimed, and fired in the span of a second. It was a feat that even the best gunslingers of times long past had been incapable of accomplishing.

Cain must have seen his glance at the distant knife. Barely a moment later another round tore into the shimmering steel of the serrated blade. With a dull cracking noise the once magnificent blade shattered into hundreds of pieces that gracefully reflected the moonlight. Giri clicked his teeth at the sight before returning his attention to the mercenary. Unarmed it would be.

Dozens of street rats and weary businessman gathered along the sidelines of the rumble like children at the zoo. They watched with mild interest as the two combatants nearly tore each other apart at each exchange. The faceless mercenary taking heavy strikes that nearly crushed his ribs and sent his brain bouncing through his head. The mob boss receiving countless debilitating punches and kicks that tested his resolve to continue. Money exchanged hands as they watched, none even considering calling the police for a moment. Even the few off duty officers present didn't bother to radio in help.

Cain slammed off the ground hard, a cough of blood painting the inside of his helmet. The last few hits he had taken were devastating. The once proud helmet had chips and cracks in the visor. A small portion of the glass had completely fallen out on the right side, a star shaped hole revealing a lonely red eye. With the bleary buzz fading from his ears, Cain was on his feet once more.

His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the smug, if exhausted, grin on his target's face. **Money For Nothing** was a far bigger pain in the ass than he had expected. He was naturally a pretty heavy hitter, what with his reinforced gloves and debilitating fighting style. Never had he expected to have that backfire so brutally. Cain sent a million curses to Major Tom, not knowing your opponents quirk was almost a death sentence. But Cain was nothing if not flexible under pressure.

Without further ado Cain rushed forward, the billowing fire outlining his racing form. Shock flooded Chu-Lin before he had his forearms up to intercept the flying kick, a boot imprint stamping into his quaking arms. His forearms forcefully flew to the side from the strength behind the attack, leaving him open to the spinning roundhouse kick that pummeled the side of his ribs.

Sadly Giri recovered far faster than the biker had anticipated, a solid punch connected with the side of his hastily raised shin. With a part pained and part annoyed yell, Cain was sent flying once more. Digging the fingers of his gloves and toes into the stone Cain slowed his slide, allowing him to burst forward in another sprint much like a sprinter dashing from the start line.

Giri blocked the incoming hook with ease, but was completely unprepared for the force behind it to slowly grow until his defense crumbled beneath it. Cain was no slouch, his body had been trained to deliver each punch with a strength comparable to that of a quirks. Metallic knuckles raked over Giri's face hard enough to send him spinning like a top. With his own snarl Giri snapped out of the spin to bring his own fist down in a haymaker, **Money For Nothing** boosting its strength to harrowing proportions.

Only for it to stop short, a black glove wrapping around its wrist and pinning it in the air. Giri met his own widened eyes in the reflection of the helmet, a single red eye complimenting them.

"Damn!" Giri threw his free fist in a jab that met a similar fate. With both his wrists restrained in the air, the mob boss was forced to stare down the biker with his teeth grit. "Let go of my fucking hand you-" The helmet flew forward, silencing him as it collided with his skull like a hammer. Blood splattered across the street as teeth flew under the crushing force.

Not letting up Cain used the grip on his right wrist to pull the mob boss off balance, allowing him to drive a knee into his gut. A heel snapped forward and nearly shattered a kneecap, another knee cut open a deep gash along blood stained lips. Another headbutt, another knee, and another and another. With his arms restrained Giri could do naught but flail and sputter as he was bombarded with the crushing strikes. It was a one sided massacre that left Giri a lacerated and bloody mess.

Tears streamed freely down the once proud man's face as his body convulsed. The grips on his wrist forced him to remain standing as he faced down the impassive biker. His arms shook wildly, as if a mighty storm raged within them.

"P-please…"

"What's wrong, Giri?" Another callous strike knocked free a disgusting amount of blood from his lungs, it poured down his chin and over his jacket. "Its building up, isnt it? All the damage you've taken, it's got nowhere to go."

Giri grit his teeth in terror as Cain flaunted his restrained hands. It was true, he could only release the built up power from his **Money For Nothing** through his hands. As it was now his hands could only touch air, the excess damage had nowhere to go. It was tearing him apart. It felt like a million hot needles ripping through his arms.

Giri couldn't hide his scream as his knee finally shattered under the heavy boot. "Come on. Use your quirk, _Giri_." The grip on his wrist grew tight enough to grind his bones together. He fruitlessly lashed out with his own legs, but Cain would either side step them or take them with ease.

A few more hits was all it took to break Giri. "Please…!" He rasped through tortured lungs, "I can't take it… anymore! Let me release it…!" The pain had grown too great, now it felt like submerging his fingers in molten lava.

Cain looked on with pity as the mob boss weakly thrashed in his grip. "...Very well." Slowly his grip edged up until hand was wrapped around Giri's clenched fist. His gloved palm covered the knuckles as the vice grip tightened painfully. "Go ahead. Use your **Money For Nothing.** "

Tears and snot poured down Giri's face as he looked upon his new predicament. "N-no. Please, anything but that-" Once again a headbutt brought forth a new river of blood.

"Use your quirk!"

Giri screamed as he lost all control over his quirk. The staggering amount of pure destructive power came flooding out of his fists like a nuke. The energy slammed straight into the waiting palm. By covering his fist Cain cut off the escape for all the energy. Rebounding in the enclosed space, the built up energy slammed straight back into Giri's hand.

He could only watch open mouthed as his hands quite literally exploded under the pressure. His arm bent in dozens of different angles as the power traveled down his arms, turning the limbs into zigzagging malformations. Blood splurt free as veins exploded and muscle tore to shreds. The ground beneath their feet turned a mighty crimson against the firelight.

Slowly the clutch on his hands loosened, revealing the poor excuse for fingers he once had. The flesh had nearly ceased to exist, the broken bones puncturing through the skin left it little more than an amalgamation of flesh, bone, and blood. The biker was barely spared the mayhem, the palm of his glove had disappeared and along with it a layer of skin.

Giri couldn't even scream through the agony that poured through him. It was overwhelming, it was more pain than he had ever experienced in his life. Even the most minute of movements sent an indescribable torment boring through his arms and striking his brain. Giri was left to silently scream and writhe on the ground, surrounded by street urchins in some dingy section of Japan. The mercenary loomed over him like a god of death, and Giri knew true fear.

Cain crouched over the pathetic man as he took in tortured gasps, his body weakly thrashing with each intake of air. The few people watching began to scatter. They understood that this was the end, the last thing they wanted was to be counted a witness to what would soon take place. Giri had already been judged.

"Please…!" Unfocused eyes locked on the blurred form of the biker, tears cutting lines through his bloodstained face. "D-don't… Dont kill me…" it was a whimper, a plea for life; however tenuous.

Fingers grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him to the side, agitating his already maimed arms. Giri's eyes rolled to the back of his head as the grip on his hair pulled his limp body up to hip level. He was dimly aware that he was being dragged along the cold, unforgiving ground. A thick trail of crimson painted their trail; soaking into the tar.

He was going to die, the unthinkable was about to happen. Giri grasped for the fading straws of life, "No! Please!" His feet kicked out, but failed to slow their movement. "I-i-i'll tell you where my hideout is! There's millions of yen there!" The words came out slurred and wet because all Giri could taste was the blood flooding his mouth.

No response, the grip merely yanked him along with even more force. "God, no! I'll tell you where the others are! My brothers, they're still out there! I can tell you where they're hiding!" He was well and truly sobbing now, his designer pants soaked through.

They finally stopped. The grip redirected his face toward the now crouching Cain, the lone eye staring deep into his soul. Even through the sniffles and hiccups he couldn't hope to turn away.

"I don't need you to tell me where they are. They'll come right to me." Horror and resignation filled his eyes, he believed it. If any man could track down and kill his near untouchable siblings, it would be this man. This… _monster._

The fingers fell from his hair to instead grip the back of his skull. Giri's vision swam as his face slammed into the concrete curb. He groaned from the ground as Cain straightened up and nudged him with the toe of his boot.

"Bite down."

"Wh-what?" Giri glanced up but couldn't hope to see him through the thousands of city lights stabbing through his eyes.

"Bite down on the curb." his voice was impatient and promised another beating.

He was too scared to disobey. With his body quivering, Giri did as he was instructed. "Like hith?"

Cain picked up his foot and stomped harshly on the back of the mob boss' head, forcing his jaw into the unforgiving concrete cropping. Teeth, gum, flesh, and skull broke like glass as his jaw dislocated with a loud _pop._ His dislodged canines dug into the tender skin of his mouth and tongue. Blood exploded outward as teeth and fleshy strands coated the curb.

Giri's head lay obliterated. His face unrecognizable; a veritable stain on the concrete. Blood formed a bubbling ocean as his body gave one last shudder in its death throes; flies dancing in the ichor like their personal playground. Whoever the man once was, whatever his dreams and ambitions had been, they were no more. Now he was simply another corpse left to be eaten by the roaming hounds. Now he was nothing more than a pocketful of cash.

Cain turned away from the mess of flesh and stalked back toward his bike. Each limp of his legs left a bloody footprint that the city would faithfully wipe away come the morning. Stopping in front of the horrified and forgotten trucker, Cain's lone eye stared into his quivering ones. Roughly taking the shocked man's hand, Cain slipped something into his shaking palm, making sure to close the man's fingers over it.

With that finished Cain picked up his bike and straddled it once more. The trucker was left to stare at the bloody gold diamond ring in his hand in wonder as Cain returned the roar to his motorcycle with a twist of his wrist. The poor thing trembled for a moment before tearing down the deserted streets once more; the congregation of neon lights a guiding star in the night. A star among the inky blackness that called profoundly for blood.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Yet another long pause in my story writing. There is no excuse for so much time between my posting, all I can hope is that this upcoming year will be better.**

 **On a lighter note, I've started leaving many allusions in my chapters. Towards the end, I will reveal what they are all alluding to, but I'll give bonus points to anybody who can determine the biggest allusion in the story.**

 **Trivia: Money For Nothing is a reference to Dire Straits.**


	3. Take 2

_Act 1_

 _Two's a Bad Company_

"Goddamnit! Get down!" Deputy Chief Seb Woodrow's harsh order barely saved the young officer from being bisected down the middle; an errant gout of razor sharp liquid gouging a rough etching into the asphalt mere inches from his head. The young man screamed and rushed to lower his exposure; his firearm long forgotten. Apart from a deep scratch on his cheek, the young man was unharmed and fearfully crouching behind his police cruiser.

Seb cast a glance over the rest of his men, each staked out behind their prospective vehicles and returning fire on their assailants whenever possible. The sleek white and black armor of each cruiser had been tainted with rust and intermittent slashes; the gaping crevices seemingly carved by an expert hand. Somehow the whirring red and blue lights were still spinning; but the deafening siren had long since been ripped apart.

Next the exhausted man gauged his surroundings, desperately praying that no more surprises were forthcoming. The sprawling outdoor shopping mall was in far worse shape than it had been at the start of this debacle; the similar scratches and scores adorning nearly every square inch. Buildings and storefronts stood in flaming ruins of debris; glass and concrete cracked beyond repair with a faint scent of smog in the air. The few remaining civilians unlucky enough to miss their escape window were stuck hunkering in the precariously standing buildings or behind painfully inadequate buffers.

Seb traced the source of a particularly brutal slice and grimaced. All of this, wrought by two people. Hell, one person really. The other man, one wrapped in a striking assortment of furs, was simply watching the carnage with arms crossed. The man at the center of this hell-hole sported a pompous green mohawk and an even uglier personality; his wheaslish laugh echoing against the madness with every swipe of his hand, with every life cut down. His eyes were glazed over in insanity and a tinge of sorrow and each thrust of his fingers only mirrored those feeling into his canvas of devastation- the paint being buckets of blood from his victims.

And there were many. His men had arrived fast enough to secure the place and evacuate most of the civilians, but many had been struck in the back by that damnable quirk. The lucky ones had their heads severed at their shoulders; the area around them pooling with blood as their body shut down instantly. The unlucky ones had been hit in all manners of places; some had their arms or legs lopped off, others had been cleanly cut in half horizontally. Regardless of where they were cut, Seb could only watch as they screamed and writhed on the unforgivingly rough ground; awaiting blood loss to kill them. Many of his own men had met this fate. Whenever he was allowed the opening he took it upon himself and ended their agony with a single bullet; to leave them was beyond reprehensible.

The only light in the dark was the fact that no more villains were forthcoming, but Seb couldn't find it in himself to take comfort in this revelation.

With rage dancing over his features, Seb pulled himself up and steadied his handgun along his car's roof. The shiny barrel dimly reflected the harsh sun as Woodrow stilled his breathing and depressed the trigger; his iron sights set on that damnable head of cabbage. The near silent report of the Fifth Generation Glock 22 accompanied the dispense of hot metal at supersonic speeds.

The mohawked man moved faster than any human ever should. His body spun and torqued as his hand flew up in a diagonal windmill motion; the space around his fingers and arms beginning to bubble like air beneath a pool. Faster than an eye could hope to catch, water flew out of his pores and condensed into a thin film that followed the arc of his arm. The torrent of liquid tore out and closed the space between it and the bullet at the same speed.

With the sound of cracking metal the carbon bullet split down the middle as the liquid glaive ripped through its carbon shielding; the water carrying on for a few more feet before collapsing and fizzling into a deceptively harmless puddle. The green haired man smirked at the outraged expression on the Deputy's face before he threw another wave of his quirk, forcing the man to duck behind his ruined car once more.

The villain let out his grating chortle at this, "Come on come on! I won't stop until i'm satisfied! I don't know who did it, but you cops are picking up the tab!"

Seb cradled his head as a particularly violent whip of white water shattered the glass of his cruiser and rent the metal with a horrible groaning cry. The man had been spouting that bullshit for an hour now and he was still no closer to understanding what the hell he meant. Hearing the attacks increase in frequency, Seb dropped his clip into his hand and eyed it; only half of his bullets remained, but that didn't really mean anything if he couldn't land a single shot.

"Where the hell are the hero- Gurk!" The officer behind the car adjacent to his was silenced by a scythe of condensed water tearing through both his car and his throat. The officer feebly clutched his neck before collapsing forward and ceasing to move.

Seb watched the man fall and felt something inside of him snap. Too many people had died today. Good people. People who only wanted to do the right thing. With no help in sight and with his friends falling like flies, most men would fall into panic and snap; ending their own life with the tempting steel in hand. Thankfully he was Deputy Chief for a reason.

Dropping his gun to the ground with a hollow clatter, Seb slowly stood; his weary bones cracking and creaking, almost crying for him not to do this. A few alarmed yelps and pleas came from his men, but the deputy paid them no mind. He wouldn't stand by and watch any more good men die, he _couldn't_ stand by. He would make this bastard pay no matter what, even if it cost him his life. The man was hesitant to use his quirk, what with his lack of training and the immense mental strain, but he was no fool.

There was no choice.

A deep magenta hue overtook the man's eyes as he strode around his car, his steps confident even though his expression was not. The mohawked man immediately locked eyes with him, but chose not to throw any weaponized liquids just yet. Seb knocked away one of his long brown hairs and glared at the villain, a thick hatred broiling within his heart. The police let up on their volley's and collectively held their breath as their commanding officer put his life on the line. Even the furred man turned and watched the unfolding scene with interest.

The green haired man merely sneered and made a 'come-hither' gesture. His ugly teeth nearly taking up the entirety of his face.

Seb didn't want to keep him waiting. Steeling his resolve, the officer began the long walk to close the distance. His long shadow trailed behind him, reveling in the sudden surge of power flowing through his body. Whatever impression he had made by his ballsy move fell away as the villain scoffed and swiped his hand in the chief's general direction, his movements bored and uninterested.

" _Blue_!" Seb skidded to a halt and raised his hand, the elbow bent and the palm aloft near the side of his face; the trembling fingers curled ever so slightly. The villain jolted in shock at the sudden outburst and unconsciously took a step backward. Seb's eyes flashed through an array of different colors before settling on a deep cobalt blue.

The sharpened wave of water suddenly stopped; each and every water particle suspended in the air for dropped jaws and widened eyes to stare at in disbelief. The noonday sun cast long streams of light dancing between the quivering particles; the shimmering sheet turning the light into a hazy rainbow. Slowly, like a vortex in an ocean, the water glaive began to fragment and warp. The furthest of the wave slowly dragged forward before the rest followed at a speed similar to whence it was thrown. Select particles here and there failed to follow, ending up little more than puddles of pure white water on the ground, the rest however had resumed its crash course with Woodrow.

The mohawk finally began to show an inkling of fear when the man wasn't torn to shreds; rather the water missed him entirely. Instead the weaponised liquid condensed into spherical form and rocketed upward, the speeding arc trailing fleeting water vapor. Like a catcher grabbing the ball at home plate, the condensed water found its home between Seb's curled fingers, a devious grin on his face.

With a roar Seb cocked his hand back as far as he could and threw his weight forward with all his strength backing it. The tightened water launched like a rocket, an explosive ring of water bursting away from Seb's smoking hand in the wake of the repurposed liquid. At nearly double the speed it traveled earlier, the sphere closed the distance with the dumbfounded villain.

The villain desperately tried to swivel out of the way but pain still erupted along his shoulder. He could feel and see the bone dislocate as the water sphere exploded along his bone and tear his clothing up in the process. The man screamed as he stumbled back a few steps, sweat freely gliding down his tense face.

Seb didn't dare give him time to recover.

" _Grey_!" Stretching his arm out with palm facing the blue sky, Seb called forth his power once more. With eyes quickly settling on a different color, the nearby concrete croppings began to loudly split and crack. Like they were part of a hive mind, shard of concrete ripped free from the ground settled into his hand; each slowly locking and grinding into each other until yet another rough sphere stood proudly between his white-knuckled grip.

The mohawked man desperately jumped to avoid the throw, this time from a pitcher's stance, but the incredible accuracy of trained officers shined through the bleak blanket of death. The ball of concrete shattered over his shin with all the force of a wrecking ball. The villain collapsed to the ground and screamed in agonizing pain. It was only through sheer luck that his leg had not been completely broken.

Seb glared at the downed man as he slowly attempted to stand; raspy moans of pain coming from his throat with every shift of his leg and arm. The villain finally gained his bearings and glared at the new threat, though it was difficult to intimidate with all his weight on one leg.

"Your… quirk… Its colors? What the fuck?"

"That's right." Seb jabbed a finger at the man and let all his animosity flow out; the dull throb in the back of his head a distant pain to his overwhelming anger. "I proclaim a color and my quirk takes anything nearby of the same color and weaponizes it. It may not seem like much, but condensing so much matter into a small space will still increase its density. I can create a deadly weapon out of sand, provided there's enough of it around."

The green haired man's face grew pale as he realized what this meant for him.

Seb smirked and felt elation flood his body, "Your quirk has been rendered completely useless! I need only call out " _blue_ " and my **Rainbow Connection** will use your quirk against you!" The pointed hand changed into partially curled fingers once again, "You've lost, Alan!"

" _Black!"_ Despite not being an actual color, Seb's eyes changed to an eerie soul consuming blackness that struck fear in Alan's heart. Deep rumbling rocked the crackling ruins as deep cracks spiraled and ran through the stony asphalt. With each new forming crevice in the road the ground would shift and rumble; every piece of black within ten feet of the Deputy quickly hovering over to his clenched fingers.

Alan tried to interrupt the quirk, but the rumbling threw off his aim and agitated his already wounded leg, sending him to the floor once again. Massive piles of uprooted asphalt were now hovering next to the man's hands, the rugged blackness slowly shrinking as the blocks crumpled into each other like paper. A veritable wall of dust rose as the quirk went to work, its law defying power visible for all to see.

When at length the dust settled and Seb stood proudly amidst a long barren stretch of road. Hovering over his hand was a black sphere no bigger than a golf ball. Alan gulped audibly at the sight. _Just how dense could that thing be…?_

Snarling in animalistic rage, Seb stepped forward with his hand trailing behind; the unbelievably heavy ball now clasped between his fingers. Roaring through the effort and the pain from the wave of water that cut a shallow line through his shoulder, Seb launched the ball. It carried all his hopes and the lives of those lost that day.

Like dynamite, the very air near the discharge point burst outward; a smoky trail of white left in the missile's wake. Alan couldn't even see the incoming death, but he could feel it deep in the pit of his stomach. A primal fear and knowledge of what was to come- something that only those in their final hour were privy to. In that split second Alan realized it was pointless to try and save himself; to dodge counter was a fruitless endeavour that would not even delay the inevitable. With the wind rushing forward like a monsoon, he could feel the sweet kiss of death and it chilled him to the bone. The most he could do was pray for it to be painless.

Alan closed his eyes and felt acceptance.

Pain exploded across the side of his face and stars burst in front of his very eyes. An immense pressure collided with his cheek and ground it inward; his jagged teeth knocking together painfully in the process. The pressure dug further into his face before pushing him brutally to the side like a sack of potatoes. A shrill whistle flew by his ear and gale force winds struck him as he collapsed to the ground.

This all took place in the span of a second, and Alan was left to stare at the sky wondering what the _hell_ had happened. Though a glimpse of the ocelot coat lightly dancing in the wind squashed those ruminations and brought a smile to his crooked face.

Seb stared open-mouthed at the villains, disbelief etched clearly in his eyes. He had seen exactly what had happened; he didn't know when he had moved, but the forgotten villain had been at Alan's side in a heartbeat. His foot lashing out at inhuman speeds and striking the mohawked man across the face. The friendly fire knocking him safely out of the rock's path of destruction.

A distant explosion sounded as the sphere collided and nearly toppled a building a few blocks down; a perfect background noise to the officer's shock. It was inconceivable; no man had reflexes fast enough to save someone from that veritable bullet. Yet the well dressed man had done it and was now staring him down in the other villain's place.

His very presence and confidence demanded the rapt attention of all present; the hostages and authorities collectively holding their breath in anticipation.

"Your **Rainbow Connection** is impressive, I must say." Disregarding all pleasantries, the man uttered these chilling words with a light and thoughtful voice. Everything from how he looked to how he talked stood in direct contrast to the mohawkian villain. "If I were not here you would have killed my brother without a doubt."

The pelt coat opened slightly as arms withdrew from its clandestine innards. Crossing his arms over each other at hip level, the mysterious villain leaned backward and locked his steely gaze on the police officer turned hero.

"But you have next to no experience with it, don't you?" The sudden jolt coupled with the hesitation in his eyes easily gave Seb away. The man chuckled knowingly, "Quirks are magnificent things; abilities that defy logic itself and put people at the top. But they are nothing without a steady heart and a stalwart mind."

"They are nothing if you fear them." The man uncrossed his wrists and leaned forward, a crooked hand settling on his cocked hip. "While destructive, the time it takes for your **Rainbow Connection** to activate is far too great. If my brother had a brain in his skull he would've killed you long before you could use your quirk. Whether it be fear or arrogance, you have forsaken your gift. And now? You will pay for it."

Seb stepped forward angrily, his teeth grinding together and a vein protruding along his forehead. "Don't act like you're such hot shit! I still have my men and like hell will I let you get close now! You won't do anything you goddamn villain!" He wouldn't let the bastard fool him with mind games, he still had the upper hand after all. Like hell would he lose it now.

Despite this the man's posture did not change save a devious smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "You're half right. It's true that I won't do anything, but that's merely because I don't need to. After all…"

Seb's body went ramrod straight, his breath quickening and his heart slamming against its cage of bone. Whatever courage he had was gone now; replaced with the sickening foreboding that twisted his psyche and painted the world in shadow. Dimly he was aware that his men had not spoken for the longest time. Terror struck hard and fast as he realized he was alone.

Well, not completely alone.

Heavy steps sounded like a drum behind him; each grating scratch along the ruined asphalt serving to shock his body with shivers. Despite the overwhelming sense of danger and panic that flooded his mind, Seb could not turn. His legs refused to move and his eyes were locked forward; paralyzed in that shaky disbelief. It was close now. The hot and heavy breath washed down the back of his neck like fire. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

A guttural growl met his eardrums, and his scream could be hear for miles around.

* * *

Cain brushed his finger over the now sizable crack in his riding helmet. His distorted reflection stared back impassively as he took a deep drag from his nearly depleted cigarette. Heaving a discontented sigh, he threw the headpiece further into the alleyway and ignored the sound of further shattering glass. He felt as though he had to buy a new damn helmet after every single job. While the safety was worth it, the cost was quickly piling up.

Leaning more heavily into his bike, Cain stared up at the nearly cloudless midday sky. For obvious reasons he absolutely hated working in the daytime, but every now and then it was unavoidable. It wouldn't make the task impossible, but it would certainly get a whole hell of a lot harder now.

He had to find the two brothers and put them in a shallow grave as fast as possible; every moment spent out there increased his risk of renown and the incursion of a hero. The police would turn a blind eye to his deeds for now, so long as he saved more police than he let die, but the hero society was a completely different game. If he was caught on a contract by a hero then he would undoubtedly be forced to fight; he wouldn't lose, but killing or brutalizing a hero was bad for business.

Of course there was also the possibility that Nana Shimura would come swooping in if he got a bad enough name with the heroes. Cain suppressed a shudder at the thought and tried to ignore the possibility. It was basically a death sentence.

A rather loud explosion in the thick of the city caught his attention. Smoke formed a pitch tower among the gleaming silver and glass; beckoning the foolhardy. Multiple sirens raced down the emptying streets to reach the place.

Despite this Cain made no moves. His scrutinizing eyes glanced at the smoke before returning to the rigid skyline with ease. It was exactly as he had expected, after all. A predictable trend had befallen the major cities after villains became more common. The powerball results had been called this morning, and it was doubtless that many people had lost quite a bit on the gamble. Most of those people being villains who were now releasing their pent up anger on the city and its inhabitants. Cain rested his head against the brick wall and relaxed; no heroes would be getting in the way of his contract today, not with so many villains running rampant in the streets. He now had ample time to finish the contract.

A grainy burst of static made him leap off his bike and rush to it's radio. The thing was built just beneath the speedometer and, though rather bulky, fit the cruiser well. Flashes of static and white noise filtered through the speakers; jumping and cutting in and out while Cain carefully turned the dial back and forth; the deployable handheld radio now in his grasp churned out the soup of electronic influence.

He had torn the radio out of a wrecked police cruiser not long ago and it hadn't let him down yet. It was the perfect way to stay on top of any villain movement without more arduous methods. The only downside being he had to buy favors to ensure he had the correct radio key; the central precinct devotedly changing the system every year or so to prevent this exact circumstance.

At once the white noise fell and gave way to a distorted and panicky voice. "-mn it! Is this thing even working?!" The sound of breaking glass and tearing metal passed through the speakers; distant, but no less meaningful. "This is squad 16. The Deputy Chief is down and our supplies are out. We've got two villains here and we need reinforcements _now_!"

"The Okina outdoor mall! Two villains- fuck!" More rent steel, closer this time. "If anybody can hear this, please contact the hero society and get some damn firepower down here! We can't hold out much-" A powerful roar, a scream, and the radio fell into white noise once again.

Cain slowly lowered the now dead silent radio as his eyes turned to the eerily colored horizon. There was no mistaking it, that was his quarry. Tinkling steel and clicking heels filled the air as the mercenary straddled his war machine and keyed its engine back to full. Wheels screeched and kicked up chunks of rock as he spun the bike around to face the alley mouth. Despite their beat up appearance, the intimidating aura pouring from the duo was more than enough to strike fear in any villain.

If it didn't, then they would learn the hard way.

Tearing the concrete once more Cain tore from the dingy alleyway as though he were propelled by explosives; the exhaust pipe of his vehicle emitted short bursts of flame as it drifted into the street on a trail of tire tracks. Yanking the throttle Cain allowed the near horizontal drift to evolve into a forward plunge; despite the quick change, the machine did not falter, nor was its precious speed lost. Passerby screamed and hollered as the deafening and intimidating cruiser narrowly avoided crushing them or their vehicles in its unstoppable course.

* * *

Alan guffawed aloud, his arms outstretched and his face pointed at the heavens. He stood amidst the carnage wrought by his quirk like a god of war; each piece of totaled debris and every drop of blood a testament to the power of his rage. Water dripped from his fingers and drooled down his chin in his euphoria mixed delirium.

Seth ignored his sibling's antics, instead choosing to prod the Deputy Chief's mutilated corpse with the toe of his cowboy boot. The body only resisted with a few shivers and moans, it flipped over and revealed its gouged stomach. His nose crinkled as the smell of death, (really only the smell of loosened bowels), assaulted his hypersensitive nose. He wasn't having quite as much fun as his brother, but even he had to admit how cathartic this whole skirmish had been.

Speaking of which, "Having fun?" He cast a glance away from the pooling blood and regarded his own.

Alan had finally let up on his sniggering and had taken up stretching his biceps and torso, a small smirk still etched on his face. "Oh yeah! Being laid up in that bunker so long has had my finger twitching like crazy!" To smash the point home, he pointed his still twitching finger at Seth, small gushes of water bursting from the creases in his skin with each convulsion. "I Couldn't even eat cereal goddamnit!"

Alan dropped his hand and leaned down to touch the tips of his toes in another stretch, "I missed this! Sticking it the pigs is what we were born for!" Next he pulled himself back and raised his arms high above his head, flexing his chest. "It's just like old times, us against the city. Nobody to tell us what to do, no shitty heroes in our way!"

However, his wide grin soon weakened and gave way to a rather pissed-off glower. "But…"

Seth closed his eyes and sighed deeply, crossing his arms he loosened his stance and gained his own pensive expression. "I know. It's not the same if we're not all together."

For once, the loud and boisterous Alan didn't immediately answer. Instead his eyes shadowed and his sharp teeth took hold of his lower lip.

Seth stepped smartly to his brothers side, settling his long fingers on his shoulder comfortingly. Of the three of them, Seth was the oldest, as such it was often up to him to be the sturdy wall for which they could lean upon. He was hurting on the inside, any grieving sibling would feel the same, but he could control it and vent it with a clear head.

"I know it hurts. But we'll find whoever stuck Giri, and we'll bury them alive." Perhaps he wasn't the best at comforting people after all, but he knew what they both wanted and he knew what would keep them sane: **Revenge**. "We kept quiet like good slaves, but now the whole world will pay for fucking with us. I promise you that."

Alan's shadow slowly faded, being replaced with a grin wide enough to shame a hyena and bright enough to challenge the sun. "Yeah… Yeah! We're gonna make em pay, and then we're gonna stick it to those spandex wearing shitheads!"

Seth smirked at the raised spirits, his own skyrocketing alongside them. Nothing would be so simple, but he would have his revenge one way or another. Finding the man that killed his brother wouldn't be too difficult; it obviously wasn't a hero or a cop- it was far too bloody and shameful to be done by one of them. Years upon years in the crime business gave him enough favors to where he was positive he could find one weak-spined villain to squeal.

One thing at a time however. Alan obviously still had some anger to vent, and if he was being honest, so did he.

"Hey." He broke Alan from his renewed fervor, earning a curious glance from the mohawkian. His thumb jabbed at the darkened corner grocery store behind him. "We still have time before more police or heroes show up, you still raring to go?"

Alan peered quizzically over his brother's shoulder and caught sight of movement in the shadowed glass doors of the grocery store, and locked eyes with a the terrified civilians hiding inside. The people's eyes only grew wider and more horrified as they realized the sadistic villain was looking straight at them, a ravenous hunger in his leer.

"I'm always raring." Seth smirked and stepped out of the way, allowing Alan freedom to saunter toward the store.

Perhaps in the heat of the moment the store seemed like the only safe haven; a solitary reprieve in the shopping district turned warzone. But now, it was anything but. There were only two entrances and exits, the glass one in the front and an auxiliary one at the back. However they had quickly learnt that the auxiliary exit had been locked in hefty chains, leaving no hope for egress in their fatal positions.

Fish in a barrel. This grocery store would be their graveyard; its jingling overhead tune would be their final hymn. Panic truly began began to set in, the men women and children ran in horrified panic; fruitlessly shoving themselves in aisles or behind counters for what little cover they may provide. Other backed away, their quirks bubbling to the surface, however weak they may have been.

Water began to fizzle up from Alan's now outstretched fingers, cascading down his arms and dripping to the asphalt heavily. Already he was sizing up the building, wondering what angle of attack would kill the most people. His water scythes could easily pierce the mortared brick of the store ,he knew that for certain, but the radius of the strike itself wasn't exactly reliable in his state. Maybe a diagonal slash to start with? No! He'd be lucky if he hit anyone with such a stupid slice!

Alan grit his teeth and violently shook his head, dispelling the advanced algebra and equations from his head like a dog would sweat. Thinking wasn't his forte, Seth told him time and time again that he should just keep to what he's good at. Alan dragged his now thoroughly soaked hand up and positioned it behind his head, as if he were searching to deliver a horizontal chop; the water seemingly forming a barrier around his flesh in suspended stasis. Lucky for him, what he's good at is destruction.

 **Carpenter Brut - Division Ruine**

A heavy slam, the muted sound of an echoing crash, forced Alan to slow to a stop and tilt his head quizzically. It was distant and hardly audible amongst the dying police siren, but if he had to place it, the sound could only resemble that of a tree falling. Stepping toward the glassy doors again, which refused to slide open for him, he was made acutely aware of a more pervasive sound; one of a growling animal, slowly gaining in volume.

The immature villain bent to get a better view through the glass, it sounded as if the sound had originated from within the store itself. The civilians had flown into a complete panic now and were desperately ducking to the sides of the store, but none of them seemed to understand what the sound was either; they seemed unsure which they should be more afraid of- the villain in front of them, or the approaching unknown.

As his vision through the glass began to clear, Alan widened his eyes as he caught sight of groceries and foodstuffs flying up and out from somewhere within the throng of aisles. Like stones, they were tossed out of the aisles as if they were being thrown out; and like an array of fireworks, the disturbance seemed to be moving toward the front of the store. So clamorous was it, that even the aisle walls themselves seemed to toppling to their sides and crushing their goods under their weight.

Even with all this, the growling was only growing louder.

"Alan! Get away from there!" Seth screamed at him, his instincts flaring up scathingly.

But he wasn't listening, he was far too focused on the shelves at the very front of the store and what was just behind them. The shelf suddenly burst, splitting down the middle as if a knife had ripped down its width. A massive motorcycle emerged from the toppling shelves, tearing through the opening and knocking away everything in its path as it tore the ground in its onslaught. The motorcycle and its partially obscured driver barreled through the openness of the store, gunning for the front opening with wild abandon.

It was moving too fast for Alan to react with anything but widened eyes, sweaty palms, and a dropped jaw. When he realized the imminent danger, it was already far too late. The driver suddenly leaned back, the shift in weight forcing the front tire to pull free of the ground and remain suspended there as the vehicle's momentum suddenly kicked up. A forceful crank of the throttle and a burst of smoke brought the wheely to its full beauty.

The raised wheel struck the door first; the glass shattering like brittle candy under the rapidly spinning rubber, and opening the rider into the open air. Alan's shell shocked face grew into horror as the death machine closed the distance of inches, any hope of dodging long gone. He couldn't even utter a cry of shock before the wheel slammed against his face, the remnants of the sliding door digging into his skin before the spin began to work against his flesh; like a grindstone, it tore into his skin and pushed the glass even deeper.

Somehow, Alan remained standing for the moment, his body had slid backward and his arms were outstretched before him like limp noodles, but his feet had kept him upright for a time. That quickly changed however when the full throttling force of the machine slammed into him; the unbearable weight of such inertia pushing against his head forcefully. There was only a moment's resistance; it only took a millisecond more before a disturbing _crack_ echoed, Alan's neck snapping in two under the immense pressure.

The rider, now easily recognizable as Cain, only bared his teeth in a feral expression before cranking the throttle even harder. The front wheel lifted even higher, Alan's now limp body going with it- the pushing force giving it nowhere else to go. With nothing to impede it, the bike tore across the emptied road on its one wheel, a shower of glass and blood flying in its wake. The wind whipped against it and the sun glared off its dented chassis; perhaps if it weren't still grinding apart a villain's face, it would be a beauty to behold.

When he had reached the halfway mark in the road, Cain suddenly loosened his hold on the throttle and snapped the handlebars to the side. Obeying his command, the front wheel slid off of Alan's ruined face and slammed back against the ground; a deafening screeching filling the air as the brakes forced the momentum to abate, the vehicle spinning around all the while. Alan, with nothing left to push him and no motor function, couldn't stave off his momentum so easily. He continued flying across the road, his limp appendages ragdolling until he crash landed through the window of the building across the street. The glass fell in a curtain, carelessly showering over his stock-still body; a shower of glittering diamonds mingling in his pooling blood.

With a final dying squeal, the motorcycle came to a stop, the beast leaning over and supported by Cain's foot on the road. He only offered the shattered window a glance before examining his surroundings; taking in the countless corpses of policemen and wrecked vehicles, all of which seemed to have been sliced brutally. The mercenaries eyes slowly locked on the only other standing man there; Seth Chu-Lin stood like a statue, his stony gaze locked on Cain and his fists clenched restrainidely at his sides.

Cain only stared at him for a moment longer before his fingers switched off the ignition, the roar of his bike dying and its rumble stilling. Kicking out the stand, Cain swung himself over his vehicle and began to stomp toward the middle of the road, his gaze never leaving his quarry. Seth picked up on this and began to move as well, his pace moving him adjacent to Cain until the two came to a stop.

The two now stood facing each other in the middle of the road, a distance of a few yards separating them and an array of flaming carnage surrounding. Overhead, the sun beat down like a silent judge in court; bathing the area in light and casting their shadows far across the ground. Within the grocery store, faces peered out in tense anticipation; a weighty tension now pervading the air, like that of a straining knot.

Seth tried to ignore the window Alan had been thrown into; there was little chance his baby brother survived, and he wouldn't risk taking his eyes from this threat. Instead he focused on the casually dressed enigma; on the stubble lining his glaring face, the gloves obscuring his fingers, the hefty revolver strung upon his hip, and the dried blood staining the bottom edges of his boot.

The Villain clenched his eyes shut as he shook with rage, his fists straining against his resolve. It only took a moment before he calmed himself, his cool gaze locking back onto a bemused Cain as his stance relaxed as much as it could.

"...So you're the one who did Giri in, huh? Tracked him down, and killed him like he was nothing.… This was part of your plan, right? Getting us all out in the open by killing Giri?" A silent second of contemplation, "We walked right into it, didn't we? You, whoever the fuck you are, you knew that we wouldn't be able to resist venting our rage and seeking you out."

"Don't take it personally. It's only money."

Anger exploded over his face, his natural calm giving way to his inner anger in a sudden spastic fury. "Oh. It's about to get very personal." His face contorted into a horrible mockery of his normally calm face, every line of his skin scrunching up into a hateful scowl. "You killed them. You killed those… those…"

"Those _fucking idiots_!" Seth's sudden outburst cut into the area and surprised Cain, unconsciously forcing him to step back, "They could never follow orders, always whining and pissing all over my plans! And now they went and got done in by some two-bit merc with an oversized chip on his shoulder!" His arms flew outstretched, regarding the entire mall, "Now look where it got me! Out in the open, with all my hard work down the drain! Even in death they make my life difficult! If they were still here i'd **tear em apart myself**!"

The furred man glared at the broken window, Cain couldn't hope to hide his bemused and off put expression even slightly at the unexpected outburst, "I could've got on so easy without you. Could do jobs, and kill, and get no trouble. No messes to clean up. I'd have enough money to purchase as much whisky as I could hold, eat top class food every day, hell I could even stay in a whorehouse all day long if I wanted it. I could play cards, tear up the night, and drink myself dizzy without a care; without the worry of you fools fucking up something behind my back." Seth slipped a knife out of his coat, and hurled it at the window; the blade digging into the wall just beside it with a _thunk._ "But what did I get? I got you fools! Dumbasses who can't take a hint or keep their hands to themselves!"

Seth's burning hatred slowly died down, his expression sobered as he began taking deeper breaths and regarded the window with some amount of nostalgia. He looked back to Cain, who for once had decided to just wait and listen, "Even still… I can't forgive you for what you've done. I hate them, hate their guts and their greedy ego. But they were family. They were my brothers, my everything! They were pains in the ass, but we looked after each other; us versus the world! And you took that from me!"

Seth snapped his hand forward, pointing his gloved finger straight at Cain's heart. "I hope the pay was worth it, Mercenary. 'Cause even if you get down on your knees and beg, I won't show you any mercy! And when I'm finished with you, I'll find the man that saw me dead and i'll tear him apart!"

Cain recovered from the outburst and schooled his expression. It wasn't quite the reaction he expected, but he supposed it was an understandable one regardless. Having to live with two antsy and spontaneous villains could drive even the strongest of men to insanity. He had only spent moments speaking to even one of them and crumpling his skull had been rather cathartic. Slowly, a smirk took place upon his lips; his fingers raising up to gently stroke his stubble as his other hand rested on his hip.

"Nice family dynamic there." Cain dropped his hand from his chin and ironed out his stance, "Giri cried for his big brother before I stomped him out. I wonder… who's left for you to cry for when your life's in my hands? God?"

Seth glared at him and stepped back, his spine straightening and his legs keeping close to each other. His stance was hardly any different than that of a normal stand, however his hand hovered horizontally in front of his furry coat, as if he were checking his watch. His other hand hung loose at his side, and the heel of his left foot rose from the ground ever so slightly.

"I have years of pent up rage to get out. Don't disappoint me."

Cain took up his own readied stance, his fist clenching and his senses sharpening down to razor thin wires. A gentle wind blew against him; a death rattle jingling as the pressure grew heavy enough to shatter bone. All sound began to fade into the background; the lights dimming to emphasize the deserted and wrecked street where the two stood.

In the span of a second, Cain's hand rocketed to his hip and tore his revolver free of its holster. In the next, his thumb slammed the hammer down- the chamber spinning the bullet into place with a heavy _click_ as his hand flew up, his aim already precisely calculated. Then, with no hesitance nor doubt, his finger depressed the trigger. Cain's hand bounced up as the heavy recoil ripped into it; an explosion tearing into the silence of the street with ear piercing clarity. The aim however remained true, the bullet tearing a streak through the air in perfect precision; its target, Seth's heart.

Seth however had burst into action the moment Cain's hand shifted; his raised hand latching onto the lapel of his furry coat instantly. He didn't flinch when the crack tore at his ears, nor did he shiver at the ominous whizzing now filling the air. The villain simply pulled aside his coat with a great flourish.

A spiel of frenzied flapping burst from within his now partially opened jacket, a dark form lurching from the bowels of the article amidst a flurry of feathers. It flew free in a rapid corkscrew, it's massively large form unfurling in size now that it was in free air. Its wingspan spread, its feathers taking on a brownish luster as the sun touched it. When, at length, the thing had ceased growing, a truly impressive Sparrowhawk flew in its place. Its hooked beak snapped open, and released a hoarse screech that challenged the report of the revolver.

Unfortunately, the avian's birth and life was not one fated for length. As soon as the screech had left its mouth, the high caliber round tore straight into head. With its hollow bones proving no resistance, the bullet tore into like a knife in butter; the heated metal nearly causing the bird to explode from the sheer pressure slamming into it. The bullet slid through its flesh until, finally, it lodged somewhere deep in its liver.

There was no cry of death, the thing simply fell dead to the floor with a muted thump. Even still, Seth remained unruffled; the hawk had served its purpose. To say Cain was put off by the sight was an understatement. In all his years he never predicted that someone would throw a hawk to save their own skin.

However he could not dwell on this development for long, Seth had already stepped forward and pulled something free from the cuff of his jacket. He only rolled it in his palm for a moment before reeling back and pitching it along the ground like he would a bowling a ball.

The object, small and diminutive, harmlessly bounced and rolled across the cracked street. But as it sped up, its size began to warp and swell, like mud being packed into a ball. With each bounce it would nearly double in size, until finally it peaked out at the size of a mid-summer watermelon. Covering its circular body was a soft black-streaked brown that could be nothing but fur.

Then, when it bounced yet again, the effect was like a springboard; it leapt clear of the ground on a crash course for the now shocked, recoiling mercenary. The spherical shape unwound in a single turn to reveal the things true form; a stocky furred animal, short in stature but vicious in appearance. Four shorts legs, a broad and rounded head, small eyes and short ears, terrifying claws and fangs. If it weren't for its size, it would easily be mistaken for a bear. However it was no such animal, this was a wolverine; one of the most frightening animals amongst the siberian wilderness, in both size and cunning. Despite it being born from seemingly thin air, the beast already had its claws outstretched and its mouth pried wide to tear out the throat of the mercenary.

Cain only let his surprise hold sway for a moment, in the next the augmented back of his hand met the wolverine's jaw with devastating impact. Its jawbone immediately split, the metal slamming into it harshly and nearly breaking its neck along with it. There was no hope for the airborne menace, it spun away and rolled along the ground with a yelp of agony. Even then, bruised and bloody as it was, the wolverine leapt back to its feet and snarled in defiance.

Readjusted aim, a solitary click, and a resounding _boom_. Brain and blood splattered across the ground as the bullet ripped through the Mustelidae and embedded itself in the concrete.

Cain glanced back up before his eyes shot wide and he hastily ducked to the side, the ringing clang of metal echoing from where he just stood. Cain caught the seething glare Seth sent him, his back bent over while both his hands held fast to a thick steel pipe resting against the street. Before a beat could pass, Seth struck again, the pipe arcing back diagonally to crush Cain's head but only finding air where he had swiftly ducked.

Seth, in his surprising dexterity, recovered near instantaneously; his body spinning with the swing and brandishing the tarnished steel above his head. A dull whistle accompanied the chop, but only the clang concluded it once more; Cain had recovered even faster, and backpedaled while holstering his revolver, clearing himself of the danger zone.

The furred criminal's face revealed his shock as he bent over his pipe, his position painfully disadvantageous. Cain wasted no time in stepping forward and hiking his knee up; there was only a moment of build-up before he pistoned his foot forward in a push kick that nearly crumpled Seth's face; the bloody sole of his boot slamming into his face with volatile potency.

"Guu-aah!" Seth cried as he flew back, his lip splitting open and his back grinding along the ground. The sudden pain was jarring, but the man forced himself to recover and used his momentum to fling himself back to his feet, just in time to witness Cain winging toward him in a flying kick.

The situation and the resolution was an obvious calculation for him. His designer shoes squeaked along the ground as he side-stepped out of the way; Cain's surprised growl filling the air as he unsteadily fell back to his feet. Seth had no intention of letting this opening escape however; his hand, still firmly gripping the steel pipe, lashed out once more, the rounded end crashing against Cain's open left flank harshly.

A dull _crack_ rang out as the mercenary staggered to the side, his ribs flaring up in angry pain and his breath catching in his throat. Blistering agony poured from where he was struck, a growing discomfort and stinging pain proclaiming the worst. The second his feet steadied, he lashed out with a swift backhand; the reinforced knuckles of his glove swatting away the cast-iron pipe before it could do any more damage. Seth, unperturbed by his recovery, spun with the parry to deliver yet another jarring swing.

Cain coughed as he stepped forward and caught the blow on his forearm; his skeleton shivering and his muscles nearly buckling under the pain. The two glared at each other at the standstill; Seth's weapon pressing against Cain, and Cain struggling to keep the blow at bay. A sudden pain flaring up in his side forced Cain to gasp out, his strength wavering for a moment, but soon he ground his teeth and pushed through it. A battle of strength and a test of will that only lasted a moment, a forceful shove from the mercenary ending the lock and birthing something new.

A piercing jab, answered with knuckles knocking it off target. Quick redirection, and a swing, only to lock up against the back of Cain's hand. A reversal, the back end of the pipe swinging around for a surprise strike, but predicted by the other hand. Swing after swing, Cain blocked and parried each in kind as he slowly pushed the heavily breathing Villain back; his speedy precision catching each and every blow with the various parts of his arms. His flank would cry out with stinging pain with every swing of his arms, but his adrenaline fueled euphoria allowed him to swallow it down. A growing numbness had also taken place beneath his flesh, each area that had taken a blow from the leadened pipe bruising awfully, but he shoved this predicament well into the back of his mind.

Desperation made itself known, Seth swinging his blunted bludgeon wildly and inaccurately. Ever the cool headed one, Cain stepped forward and lashed out with his hand; the fingers of his right hand snapping against the exposed wrist of Seth's striking hand. A quick roundabout swing of his arm, and Seth's wrist twisted around painfully; forcing him to unhand the weapon and send it flinging high into the air.

Seth was only slack jawed for a moment before he found himself under assault. A fist burying itself in his side and sticking there; the upward grinding pressure forcing him to remain rooted to the spot in abject pain, unable to pull away. Next came a solid strike across his face, nearly uprooting his teeth and leaving a stinging welt in its place. Whatever gasp of agony he intended to cry was smothered by a sharp pressure slamming into his nose.

Cain pushed and twisted his elbow into the villain's near scrunched up face, the blood spurting from his nose and onto his jacket with each grinding swivel of his bone that twisted the man's face further. It wasn't exactly killing the man, but the grinding agony was comparable to that of a schoolyard students bullying. Painful, and ultimately embarrassing. Seth glared at the man from under his elbow, still unable to force energy into his limbs and uncertain what good it would do in the first place.

When the mercenary considered his point driven home, he relinquished the pressure for a moment, yanking his fist from the man's side at the same time. The effect was instantaneous, Seth staggered backward clutching both his nose and side with a groan of agony. It was obvious he was not made for close combat in the slightest, even with his quirk still a relative enigma he could not hope to win a battle like this. The villain had spoken brazen words, but it was obvious he was still allowing his rage to muddle his mind; making him hasty and irrational.

The mercenary didn't care, even the slightest mistake would be paid to its fullest, regardless of the cause. There wasn't even a heartbeat to separate his actions, Cain stalked two steps against Seth's backward stumble, his expression once again the unwavering stone of conviction. His hands eased into his jacket pockets and his torso shifted so his side now faced the villain; a swift intake of breath filling the sky as Cain glared mercilessly at his prey. There was only a minor pause; a jarring clatter from somewhere behind, likely the lead pipe crashing back to earth, forcefully ending it.

The movement was so fast, that if you were to blink you would undoubtedly miss half of it. Cain's head snapped the side, his skull lolling toward his shoulder with practiced ease. Then, as if powered by an explosive charge, he surged forward and brought down his head like a gavel; his forehead striking the top of Seth's skull with teeth shaking force. Seth had no hope of resisting, the sledge-strike immediately knocked him flat on his face with a groan of pain, his face bouncing off the tar from how quickly he collapsed.

Now, with the upper hand, Cain re-armed himself with his revolver and spun it around his fingers once. With a flicker of steel, he snapped it into position, his eyes gazing down the iron-sights onto Seth's groaning form. With one quick snap of his finger, he snapped the hammer back and adjusted his aim.

Just before his finger could even enter the trigger guard, a sharp and agonizing pain burst into his calf muscles, causing his leg to spasm, his eyes to fly wide open, and a throaty gasp to leave his mouth. Driven half mad by pain and shock, Cain's frenzied gaze was disbelieving as it landed on a frighteningly massive python, clinging to his leg with its fangs partially buried in his calf. The thing was longer and larger than any snake he had ever seen, brown in color, and regarding him with maliciously slanted eyes.

Immediately he grabbed at the thing, desperately trying to yank it free of his leg. Fortunately, a few choice tugs dislodged its fangs; a spurt of blood trailing down his leg in its wake. Unfortunately, it was not so easy to rid himself of the reptile. As soon as its teeth left his skin, the animal lashed out, its long body coiling around his arm as he flailed backward in hopes of tossing it away. The snake coiled around the length of his arm twice with startling speed, then it made to wrap around his neck with crushing force; only by dropping his revolver and punitively gripping at its scaled skin could he keep his airways unblocked.

"Gah- Motherf-" Of course, the python took his new immobilization as a go-ahead to sink its teeth into him once again, right in the flesh of his inner shoulder. Cain staggered back, the added weight throwing him off, the pain in his shoulder forcing him to wince, and his constricted arm unable to assist him in alleviating the ever-growing pressure around his neck.

"I must thank you." A distant chuckle beckoned Cain's struggling gaze, his eyes landing on Seth, now standing a good few yards away. He had capitalized on his current engagement to procure a few precious yards of distance. Despite the bruises dotting his face, he seemed no worse for the wear; in fact he seemed to have shrugged off his blows rather easily. "You hit like a battering ram kisses, but you've returned my senses."

A truly melancholy look crossed his face, "I was so angry… I couldn't even think straight. Everything that's happened was because of you, and I lost myself in that rage… I just wanted this nightmare to be over."

The man shook his head, evaporating the sorrow in his eyes. "I know now, that I can't fight you one on one." His hand snapped up, his finger jabbing at Cain, "I hope you enjoyed having the upper hand! It will not be so easy to get close to me again!"

Cain attempted to rebut, but a sudden and intense squeeze against his throat only allowed for a raspy gasp. HIs thoughts were abuzz, paranoia creeping in amongst his constant reminder to _not exhale._ Grinding his teeth, Cain fell to his knee; the pythons grip only growing tighter with each passing second. Luckily, since he hadn't exhaled he was still able to weather the constriction, but he could only hold on for so long.

"You must be wondering where your new reptilian friend came from, am I right?" Once more Seth made himself known, a humorous gleam in his words and a smirk playing upon his lips. "Surely you didn't forget the weapon you so carelessly tossed aside?"

Cains eyes widened, realization forcing his body to go ramrod straight and the tiniest sliver of breath to leave his throat. _The pipe!_ He had completely forgotten about the lead pipe he had knocked from the villain's grasp! He had heard it land behind him, but he had neglected to spare it even a glance.

The mercenary glared impetuously at the brown-scaled python and the pipe were one and the same. Seth must have known that he couldn't kill Cain with such a weapon, it was merely a distraction to get it behind him! Through his quirk he had changed the weapon into a living creature, one bent on killing him.

Sweat slid down Cain's face as he futilely tugged at the python, black spots dotting his vision and his aching ribs flaring up in red hot pain. Whatever its origins, he was certain it could die just the same as a real one. Sparing a glance downward, his fading eyes landed on his discarded revolver, his gut already twisting at what awaited him.

There was only a moment's hesitation, his eyes seeking another way. He knew there wasn't one. Cain gave one last attempt to fill his already struggling windpipes before wrenching his hand away from the pythons scaly skin, freeing up the right hand at tremendous cost. With nothing to impede it, the python immediately tightened, its grip on his throat nearly crushing his tract and only growing tighter with each passing moment. Immediately cain groaned, a familiar heat building up in his flushed skin as he was slowly starved of oxygen. Despite this, he still sent his hand for his revolver, the feeling in the tips of his fingers already long gone. His fingers nudged the edge of his gun, pushing it away ever so slightly. Grunting, Cain tried again, his shaking fingers wavering over salvation.

However, before he could lock on the weapon, a blur of orange flew across his vision. It was fast, and he would have missed it should he have blinked at that moment. When it was gone, Cain's heart dropped and his blood grew ice cold. His revolver was gone.

Slowly, his eyes tracked to where the blur had gone and found himself growling in pure rage. Standing outside his arm's reach was a red fox, its beady eyes staring at him in interest and wariness. Despite its size, between its teeth the canine carried his revolver like it was a dead rat.

The two only stared at eachother for a tense moment before Cain lunged out at the animal, clear desperation in his eyes. But the fox was faster, as soon as Cain twitched it turned tail and fled; ducking into the closest alley with its catch still in tow.

Cain gaped blatantly at where the canine disappeared, his one and only hope fleeing with it. The villain proclaimed something loudly, a gleeful tint to his boisterous words, but the rushing blood behind his ears left him incapable of hearing. He needed to do something, _now._ Even a moment longer and he could suffer irreparable brain damage. But, he mused as he collapsed further toward the ground, his revolver was long gone now, and he knew he couldn't catch the elusive canine in his current state.

Like a spark, Cain's eyes lit up, a single thought flying through his brain and sticking smack dab in the center. Grinding his teeth and beating back the edging blackness, Cain's shaky hand quickly reached toward his constricted arm; the numb appendages finding purchase on slick scales. A moment of fumbling later, and his fingers wrapped around the tail end of the snake, he wasted absolutely no time and began yanking with all his might. The snake put up a fair fight, its strength fighting him to remain coiled around his arm, but it was little match for a desperate man on death's door.

With a final mighty tug, a portion of the python's body uncoiled from him; the snake's tail violently struggling in his grip. It was only a small fraction of the beasts form, but he wasn't aiming to pull the thing off him like that. The snake only struggled more with every moment its tail was in his grip, the thrashing nearly forcing Cain to the ground; all the while its death grip never let up. But it was in his hand now, and it may not know it yet, but it was at his mercy now.

Cain only hesitated for a moment, unsurety crossing his paling visage. He had only seen this done once in a movie, he had no worldly idea if it would work or not. If it didn't, then he knew he wouldn't have enough time to think of another escape plan before he passed out. On the other hand, he was already fading fast, if he didn't act now he would die without even putting up a fight. Without wasting another moment, Cain leaned forward and opened his mouth wide.

...and sunk his teeth as deep into the tail as they could go.

The effect was instantaneous. As if it had been struck by hundreds of volts, the snake began thrashing about wildly; its fangs dislodging from its shoulder with a pained hiss. Even still, Cain did not let up; his crushing bite only growing in intensity until, finally, his airways cleared and he could take a deep, agonizingly delightful breath through his nose. The tightened coils loosened, the snake unable to maintain it with the world shaking pain it underwent. As soon as he had taken his well deserved breaths, Cains free hand snatched the thrashing snake head from the air. The python hissed at him, desperately trying to reinsert its fangs, but unable to with its head held high above the man's head.

Showing no mercy, the mercenary brought the snake head back down like a neanderthal; slamming the pythons skull against the concrete ruthlessly. It jolted, its length slowly uncoiling further as Cain brought it back up and slammed it down again. Pinning it there, Cain brandished his now mostly free left hand and brought the base of his fist down upon its skull, again and again, until it finally stopped struggling. Thin rivers of blood slid through the cracks in the concrete as the completely limp python unraveled itself and flopped to the ground unceremoniously.

Cain gasped loudly, his chest expanding painfully as he filled himself with the air he had been so deprived of. As if it had been scared off, the darkness at the edge of his vision seeped away and the feeling returned to his fingers at a steady trickle. His body still ached, the bites, his injured side, and his bruised arms all crying out; but he was alive, he could shake it off and get back on his feet. With only a few shakes of his head to clear it, he did exactly that.

The villain seemed impassive to the death of his progeny, his position completely unchanged and his air of superiority yet stable. True to his word, he hadn't moved any closer to Cain, even when he had been so vulnerable; the possible risk remained too much to consider.

"You never fail to impress, Mercenary." Seth words rang clear as crystal in Cain's ears, a humorous note hidden within. "It takes a sturdy man to remain calm under the grip of an Anaconda. You're probably the first person to make it this far, in fact."

Cain ignored his words, his mind whirring with that bullet fast speed it always had in battle. He couldn't afford to be caught off guard again, he needed to reveal the villains secret _now._ As promised by Thom, his quirk truly did have something to do with animals, specifically with turning inanimate objects into them. It was obvious that Seth couldn't control _what_ exactly he could create however. If he could, then that snake would have been venomous and Cain would have died without a token effort.

That only left the _how_ of the equation. How did this villain go about using this quirk? Usually, these powers would have some activator, a means by which the change takes place. Luckily, Cain was observant; throughout the battle, there had always been a constant. Each object that had changed underwent a similar scenario, one that linked them all together and left no doubt to the key to his quirk.

Cain stomped his foot forward confidently and jabbed a finger at Seth with one of the most hateful glares on his face. " **Your right arm**. That's your secret!" his words were gravelly, untested on his raw throat, but they were resolute and assured. They were spoken with the clarity of a prosecutor calling out perjury in court; decisive and revealing.

For once, Seth seemed taken aback, his smirk dissolving and his eyes hardening. "...You are too perceptive for your own good, Mr. Mercenary." A man's quirk, especially in the world of Villain's, was his best-kept secret. Nonchalantly revealing your quirk was tantamount to waving a flag displaying all your strengths and weaknesses. "But, you are right. The secret to my quirk is my right arm. Specifically, my right hand."

Seth smirked, his control of the situation returning even when the Merc's glare did not lessen. "I bet you consider yourself so clever to figure it out, but it won't help you. _Nothing_ can help you now." His grin only grew feral, his left hand sliding up and grabbing the right sleeve of his jacket. With a harsh yank, the seams of his coat began to tear, the sound of ripping fabric filling the air as the shoulder began to separate from the rest of the coat. With a final flourishing tug the sleeve tore free, exposing his arm in all naked glory.

While the rest of his body was assuredly natural and humane, this appendage was not. Where the fleshy pink of human skin should have been there was only a midnight black flesh, leathery and grotesque. Patchy swaths of wiry grey fur dotted the veiny arm in long and broke stretches, like the flesh of a bear that had been poorly shaven. This fur led to the top of his shoulder, where it was most abundant and completely covered the flesh in its matted hideousness.

It did not end there, however, following the grossly protruding veins led to the man's now degloved hand, though calling it such was a terrible insult. It was more claw than hand; something you could only see upon a werewolf in an old film. The leathery skin and matted fur still dotted it, but the thing was noticeably larger than a regular human hand, and the joints in each finger seemed corruptibly bent, giving it the eternal image of being partially clenched. At the tips of each finger were long jagged claws, each frighteningly sharp and discolored.

The… _thing,_ reeked of rage. It seethed with a terrible portent of power and corruption as if pure evil had welled up within it. It was a stark contrast to the gentle calm of Seth, falling more in line with his angry outburst.

Seth flexed his arm experimentally, a grin crossing him as fresh air touched his skin. " _This…_ is my quirk. This is **Africa.** " With a flick of his wrist, Seth tossed a bullet into his awaiting malformation, his thumb and forefinger catching it easily and rolling it between their tips. "By scratching something with **Africa** I can modify its molecular structure and turn it into a living creature. Metal turns to carbon, which turns to flesh, which turns to organs… Of course, this doesn't apply solely to objects. Even living things can be changed into rabid animals if I scratch them with these claws."

As soon as those jagged nails touched the bullet it began to slowly convulse and change shape, "Unfortunately, I cannot choose what I turn my victims into. Every object in this world has a… _presence._ Something outside of its solid form, something intangible." Feathers began to sprout from the now unrecognizable bullet, small talons poking through its fleshy carapace, "A car emits a presence like that of a rhino, as such it becomes one. A knife has the presence of a wolf, and through me it is made into one. Bats and pipes, usually snakes. And a bullet..." The ammo was now gone, in its place perched a barn owl, one that never moved its beady eyes from the perturbed mercenary. "Often becomes an avian of some sort."

"My **Africa** takes the presence of any object and turns it into animal form. The power of the animal kingdom, right at the tips of my fingers!" Seth thrusted his hand forward, the barn owl leaping off its perch and sailing toward Cain with a loud screech, "I am the unstoppable force of nature itself! How can you hope to stand against me?!"

Cain didn't flinch, he merely stepped forward and snapped the owl's hollow bones with the back of his palm. It spiraled twice through the air before crashing to the tar and twitching. Cain's face hardened, his glare now piercing with determination to put an end to this before it could get worse.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Yep. How long has it been now? An entire year? Without a single update? Must be a new record for me.**

 **Im ashamed to admit that I've hit a pretty deep creative rut. Right now, Wheel of Fortune is the only story I feel even remotely comfortable writing for. Will of One is dead in the water, and though it has some prevalence in this story, I dont see it coming back anytime soon. A lot of things have changed, pretty much none of them good. But I still have ideas, oh so many ideas for this story. Its just my perfectionist mind makes it damn near impossible to get a chapter out without debating how good it is over the course of an ENTIRE year.**

 **Will of One had no chance. It was a completely unoriginal and horrible story, that I regret writing. I apologize to those who genuinely liked it, but I could not stomach having that thing out there and being read anymore. But this story has potential, and even if it takes years to complete, one day I hope you all can have a full story to enjoy.**

 **On the final note, this chapter was meant to be merged with the next one. However, that would create a chapter LONGER than both of my previous chapters COMBINED. That is not a scale I would like to start with so soon, thus the break up. Writing pure combat is difficult, and I hope I managed to do it well enough to at least keep some of you engaged.**

 **There were also references here. I think you can figure them out yourself.**


	4. Take 3

_Act 1_

 _Welcome to the Jungle_

Cain was no stranger to powerful quirks. He couldn't count how many times he had fought a quirk that, by all means, made a man invulnerable. There were the simple ones, that were made more dangerous because of how crafty their users often were. And then there were the complex ones. The type that was strange in theory, but devastating in use. The kind that could kill any man instantly, if he so much as flinched wrong. Those were the ones that made up the backbone of society and separated the meat from the chaff.

A quirk to turn inanimate and animate objects alike into living breathing things… It was frightening how much that entailed. All it would take was a bad stroke of luck and he could find himself facing down a creature he had no hope of besting. And what if he himself is hit by those menacing claws? This quirk was far more dangerous than he had anticipated; he needed to strike hard and fast before he created an animal he couldn't handle right now.

He needed to get close.

"Oh no you don't!" The villain had already anticipated his line of thought, and as soon as he stepped forward his clawed hand launched a spinning knife his way, "I will be the victor here!"

The sun made it near impossible to see the short blade coming, but a pitched whistle in the air forced Cain to hastily pull his head to the side. A gust of wind flew past his ear, the blade missing him by the barest of inches.

Pain erupted in his shoulder and Cain finally screamed, a weight pulling him back and nearly throwing him to the ground. With a gasp of agony, Cain swiveled his head and locked eyes with a grey wolf, its mouth locked around his shoulder with its lips curled up in a growl. The knife had changed into a wolf as soon as it had flown over his shoulder, the thing turning in midair to catch his exposed arm and open up even more holes in his flesh.

With a yell of outrage Cain grabbed the canine by its head and yanked it off; slamming it into the ground like a sack of potatoes. Now dazed, it couldn't hope to avoid when Cain reeled his foot back and punted it into the nearest wall; a sickening crack accompanying its shattered spine. There was only the smallest twinge of regret in the back of Cain's heart with each life he took. He had always considered animals as inherently neutral beings, things that only care for their survival, not terrorizing for sport. A stark contrast to a criminal in every sense of the word.

However if they were after his life then he would _not_ hesitate.

Cain took off at a dead sprint, now acutely aware of how many more mistakes he could afford to make. Seth's surprise at how easily he disposed of his creation only lasted a moment, his twisted hand pulling free a pair of brass knuckles from his coat swiftly.

"Damn!-" Cain yelled as a powerful force collided with his stomach, stopping him in place and sending another flare of pain through his ribs. Glaring down, he found a ram bleating angrily and shoving against him with its curled horns. Another forceful push and Cain's feet began to slide across the ground, the animal pushing him down the street and away from his target.

"Get. The hell. Offa me!" wrapping his hands around both of the curled horns, Cain yanked the ram up onto its hind legs, his own strength now pushing it back. A quick sleight of his hand and the switchblade hidden in his pocket found its place in the animal's heart, ending its life quickly and painlessly.

As soon as he tossed the rams motionless body aside, Cain found his vision immediately blotted out as something _smacked_ against his face and _stuck_ there. Cain yelped, falling back a step and reaching up to pry away whatever had latched onto him, only for another similar body to crash into his arm and knock it away. Another one came, latching onto his leg, then another upon his other arm, then another and another. Each of them were relatively small in size, varying, but also heavy and slimy.

A myriad of soft croaking now assaulted him, completely disorienting him and forcing him back a few more steps along with the weight.

"Ahh… Marbles." Seth chuckled, "They are so easy to obtain, and frogs can be quite the menace in numbers."

Frogs…? Christ, there must have been at least twenty of the things on him now, and based on the frantic hopping and slapping sounds drawing near, a few more were on their way. These were no ordinary frogs either, they were holding onto him with the tightest of grips an amphibian had ever given. He wouldn't be able to rid himself of these by normal means, at least not fast enough to get rid of them before more could take their place.

Like hell would he wait for a poisonous frog to hop its way into the mix, no matter how tough he was, he wasn't much of a match for poison. Thinking quick on his feet, Cain plucked up yet another tool, this time from within his jacket. The frogs croaked in protest, their combined weight and jostling nearly making him drop it. He couldn't see to save his life, but the blocky shape between his fingers left no doubt that he had gotten lucky and grabbed the right thing. Wincing at what he was about to do, he could only hope that this wouldn't have any long standing repercussions.

A sharp popping sound rang out as he flicked a switch on the edge of the device and brought it close to one of the bodies squirming against his chest. As soon as pressed the device into the amphibians back, his body locked up. A horrible pain lanced through him, hundreds of volts cascading across his nervous system, each and every muscle in his body spasming like they had gotten cramps at the exact same time. Somehow, Cain kept his mouth shut and the volts coming through the torture; though his fingers forcibly clamping down on the taser trigger managed to help with that.

The frogs however were not so fortunate, they cried out in loud croaks, the volts slamming straight into them due to their close contact with Cain. Thanks to their slimy bodies, they conducted electricity far greater than any normal animal would; it only took a few short seconds of voltage before they fell from him like shocked flies. Any other short-sighted amphibians that had tried to latch onto him during that moment had met a similar fate.

It had only been a few seconds, but to Cain it had felt like ages had passed. The only reason he hadn't immediately passed out was because he had been anticipating the shock, even then it was still a small measure of fortune that he hadn't ended up on the concrete, foaming at the mouth. Only depressing the weapon a second longer, to insure that each croaking menace had been dealt with, Cain released it and collapsed to his knees. Drool leaked from the corner of his mouth and his eyes struggled to focus; short twinges of aftershocks slicing through his body cut his attention short and jumbled his thoughts. The weapon had done its job, but now each injury he had sustained thus far felt multiple times worse; as if their already hefty weight had been doubled upon his back. Apparently forcing your muscles to spasm around already damaged tissue was a recipe for disaster.

Cain took a few more deep breaths before clenching his jaw and struggling to his feet, his still sore leg muscles protesting for a moment before he took complete control. The pain still ached all throughout his system, but it was slowly fading now, a moment longer and he would be able to ignore it enough to fight as he always had. Overcoming tasers wasn't a common feat, but in the instance where you encounter such electrocuted hazards (nearly every day of his life) it was difficult not to come out with some experience. Breath deep, breathe easy, and shake it off; make them pay for every volt you tasted.

Seth was completely taken aback, only now did the true magnitude of his situation come crashing down on him This man, this _mercenary_ … had _tased_ himself just so he could fulfill his contract. Not only that, but he had gotten back up! The mercenary stood hunched over, though that somehow only made him more menacing, his hair shadowing the upper portion of his face even if his stark crimson eyes still managed to shine through the curtain. He seemed to be _steaming_ , whether it be a side-effect of his electrocution or his rage made visible, Seth did not know. But the sight sent a deeply unsettling shiver down his spine, and a cold sweat down his cheeks.

This man would go to any lengths to seem him killed, even so far as to put his own life on the line. Seth had never felt such a foreboding force, he had never seen such _intent_ with his own two eyes. It was like being diagnosed with only a few days left to live in a doctor's office. It was certain, it was assured, and it was irreversible. Even should he run away, _flee_ the country… he would always know deep in his heart than this man would be coming for his head.

And that was the most terrifying part. The realization that his very life may end, and that the force of nature that would end it could shake off his quirk like it was nothing. A force of nature completely alien to the one he was accustomed to.

Cain stomped forward, testing his balance and smirking when he found it wasn't wanting. Seth took a step back, his only one yet, a distress now firmly seated in his being. He still managed to hold his poise, but now he knew that this wasn't the child's play he had hoped it would be; if he didn't do something _now_ he would surely die. Do or die, a statement he thought he had been familiar with.

Cain stomped again, his pace picking up and his red eyes only glowing brighter to Seth's paranoia. Thinking quick on his feet, Seth stepped back and scratched free the pen stowed in his inner shirt pocket, a rabid squirrel winging out with killing intent in its eyes. Not stopping there, the villain brought his **Africa** bearing down on a serrated blade strapped to his belt. A howling coyote front flipped out and bared its teeth at the approaching menace.

There wasn't even a hiccup in his approach, the squirrel met the tip of a baton as soon as it leapt from the ground, its neck cracking under the harsh steel. The wolf clawed out at the Mercenary, forcing him back a momentary step, but he was right back into the fray with a rising knee against the underside of the canine's jaw; its jaw snapping and its legs giving out under the painful disorientation.

Seth watched dumbfounded as the mercenary finished off the wolf and set his sights on him once again, his steps increasing in tempo even if his steaming rage had lessened. The villain was now trapped in retreat, every step his hunter took elicited one in reverse from him. There was no more worry in his eyes, there was only fear.

A bullet shifted into a diving crow, its majestic feathers standing in contrast to the bright sun; its beak could not withstand a fist colliding with it. Another snake, made manifest by the villains loosened belt, only for its life and skull to be ground out against the concrete. A gopher burst from the ground with its gnashing teeth bared, only to shatter another window in flight.

"Goddamnit! Why won't you just die!?"

Cain was almost on top of him now. Every single animal Seth created had been intercepted and destroyed mercilessly. He had run out of nearly every object in his arsenal now, he wouldn't be able to create any more useful creatures with what he had anymore. Cain knew this, and his victorious grin and loosened stride made this evident; he took no small amount of pleasure in seeing the slippery villain cower and flounder for an escape.

Seth's back struck against something, the burnt and ripped wreckage of a police van, the remnants of his brothers mayhem. Unfortunately, the thing was nearly useless to him as it was now, any animal created from it would be disabled and near useless. Even in the moment it took to digest this Cain had closed the distance to mere yards. Seth needed to get away _now._

Seth threw himself over the hood of the car, his actions hasty and clumsy. Even still, he flipped himself over and took shelter behind its large chassis, like a soldier hunkering down in wartime. Cain merely smirked at the sight, reveling in knocking the oh so confident villain down a peg. Stretching out his spine and grunting at his injuries, Cain closed the distance with the vehicle. Seth must have been extremely distraught, Cain couldn't even see him because of how he had huddled up behind the car. It wouldn't save him.

 **Mega Drive - Slum Lord**

Bouncing from his feet, Cain leaped above the hood of the car, prepared to end this game of cat and mouse here. Yet, instead of a cowering villain, he was met with something completely unexpected.

In the middle of his jump, Cain's vision was blocked out by a massive wall bursting into sight. It was truly large, covered in wiry black fur, and seemed to have come from nowhere. Time seemed to slow as Cain craned his head up and met eyes with the ferocious glare of a snouted beast, its fangs dripping with saliva and its eyes glinting with rage.

It was a grizzly bear. He had jumped right towards it, and was caught in midair right under its snout.

He couldn't even react.

The beast's paw came up and slammed down hard, crashing into Cain and spiking him back from where he jumped like a volleyball. He slammed against the ground with so much force that he _bounced_ up and flopped onto his stomach, both sides of his body singing out in pain alongside a groan on his part.

Cain scrambled to his feet, any pretense of confidence wiped away and replaced with disbelieving shock. The bear roared at him, an ear-splitting one that made the mercenary stagger back and cover his ears. Struggling with its size, the grizzly heaved itself over the car, the hood crumpling along the way. With one last pitiful crunch of the metal, the bear stamped onto the ground and seethed at him, daring him to move. He didn't.

Seth popped up from his hole beside the ruined vehicle, his distorted angry grin on his face once again.

"I must hand it to the police of this city, they are tenacious if nothing else."

Cain didn't answer, his eyes solely affixed on the intimidating ursidae. Though he did offer the villain a confused glance at his words.

"Our good friend, the deputy police chief, was not as dead as I expected. He was still clinging to life by-" He held his pointer finger and thumb up, the distance between them small, "this~ much. Being the kind hearted man I am, I gave him another chance at life. I admit, I was desperate, and taking a chance with a near dead man is something I would never risk…"

"But what a chance it was! A grizzly bear! A towering predator of the forest!" Seth's grin only grew more horrible, as if his face had been irreparably molded like clay, "What a will that man must have had!"

The mercenary understood now. He was locking eyes with the Deputy police chief, his body, though morphed by **Africa,** still carried some of the injuries he had when he was dying. Every object has a presence that would give way to an animal of some sort, so it only stood that living things would too.

Except living beings can change their presence; life breeds different personalities for every man. A person who had lived their life in cushy extravagance, without ever having to fight for anything or bare their fangs, would likely only represent a rabbit. A person who had lived on the streets all their life, fought every day to survive… a man who had _killed_ , would be something ferocious; like a bear, or a lion.

Seth hopped up onto the car, seating himself on the crumpled hood like a demented king, "I admit, you had me frightened there for a moment. But you are unarmed and outmatched. Get on your knees, beg and I _may_ be generous to you."

Cain growled at the absurd thought, "Big words from the man who can't fight his own battles... Without your animals or your brothers to fight for you, you're nothing."

Seth was unruffled, merely leaning back and crossing his arms, "I won't be so easily goaded by a washed up mercenary who doesn't even have a quirk worth mentioning. You have done nothing outstanding this entire time! Don't tell me, is your quirk finding villains? A searching quirk? Oh! Oh! Maybe it just makes you more resilient? I've been beating your head in for a while now, after all."

Seth cut himself off, his grin widening alongside a chuckle, "I won't fight you like my equal because, in the end, you're _not_ my equal." Cain couldn't even bring up the fact that he had been on the retreat this entire time, he was too focused on the massive creature.

The villain gave a whistle, and the bear reared back and roared in response. Without any more fanfare, the giant beast took off, gunning for the mercenary with a snarl. Every slam of its claws against the ground was heavy, its speed impressive despite how large it was. Cain lifted his fists up in a boxer stance and prepared himself; playing dead and running wouldn't do him any good here, he had to fight it head on.

The bear didn't slow as Cain had expected, instead it lowered its head and picked up its speed, intending to crush him flat. Hastily tucking himself into a ball, Cain threw himself out of the way and dodged the rush widely. The bear continued on for a moment before grinding its nails into the road and halting itself, a clear annoyance in its feral expression. Rolling to his feet, Cain began circling the grizzly; it was a simple tactic, but effective, it forced the bear to pick its body up and turn to follow him with its eyes, giving Cain a wider reaction time.

Roaring, the animal swiped at him with its claws, forcing Cain to barely sidestep out of the way but opening an opportunity to jump into its exposed flank. As it recovered he delivered punch after punch into its soft fur, hoping against hope that he would strike something important. The strikes were powerful, but the bear didn't seem fazed by them in the least- each one simply bouncing off its thick hide. When he had overstayed his welcome, he jumped back, putting a precious few feet of distance between them again.

To hope that he could create a pattern was foolish. When Seb clawed at him again it did not let up so easily, the bear advanced on him as the mercenary was pushed back, each slice forcing him to backup lest he be cut to ribbons. A flurry of swipes insued, the beast seemingly not tiring in the least. Cain was not so fortunate, he was already exhausted from handling all the animals beforehand, and the injuries hindered him even further.

So when Seb lunged at him with both his paws at the same time he was completely unprepared. Cain screamed as the massive claws locked against his arms, squeezing him tight and locking him in place. Snarling, the bear held on tight and lifted itself to its hind legs and held the mercenary at arms length in front of it.

Cain struggled futilely, his legs kicking and his arms fidgeting. "Ghh!" He groaned as the pressure on either side only increased. Perhaps he may have been able to think his way out if he hadn't become acutely aware of Seb's grip pulling him closer, or of its sharp maw opening.

Cain's scream was loud and anguished when the bear sunk its teeth into his shoulder, each sharp incisor piercing his flesh. The earlier snake bite felt like a kiss compared to this torture, Cain could only gasp and struggle, his face paling and his mind flaring up with static. To make matters worse the bear had dropped its grip on his arms, the teeth lodged in his flesh the only thing suspending him.

Then the bear shook its head. Like a dog viciously swinging a stuffed toy in its mouth, the bear swung Cain back and forth, further worsening the bites and prompting another anguished yell from the man. Each swing was like pressing a hot metal rod into the holes in his skin and jostling it, blood freely poured down his back and clung to his shirt. In the back of his mind the only thing Cain could focus on was how glad he was for having padded the jacket, otherwise his arm would likely be gone by now.

When the bear grew bored of tormenting him it released its grip and flung him a good few yards away, the mercenary crashing with a small _oof._ Cain cupped his shoulder futilely, hoping to staunch the flow of blood and pain lest he passed out here and now. The pain was astronomical and made everything he had suffered thus far feel like bee stings in comparison.

The situation had been quickly turned on its head. The upper hand had been turned over yet again, the sheer versatility of **Africa** trumping Cain's ingenuity. Now, badly injured and disoriented, Cain was the one bleeding profusely on the ground- a terribly disheartening sight for what viewers there might have been left in the newly dubbed ghost town. He was far from dead of course, but not even he could shake off such horrible agony.

Taking a few precious moments, Cain shuffled and pulled himself up enough to reach into his boot, an involuntary hiss leaving his throat at the agitation of his injuries. It was a great effort. Really all he wanted was to stay still, and wait for the pain to pass, but that was not an option.

What he pulled out was a small plastic packet filled with four vanilla colored tablets, each no bigger than a dime. They were unassuming, and rather cute, if you found analgesics adorable that is- though the slightly acrid stench of sweat clinging to the bag did it no favors. Cain only grimaced for a moment before tearing it open and downing the contents, each of them sticking uncomfortably to his dry throat and requiring a few extra swallows.

 _Tylenol_ was not exactly hard to come by, and was invaluable when caught in situations like this. In the past it could only assist with minor aches, but the evolution of science had changed that quickly; even just a few small tablets could help a man overcome a goddamned _bear_ bite. Cain never did like taking drugs, they more often than not muddled his decision making, but they did have their uses; like _hell_ would he disregard an advantage.

Thankfully Seth hadn't noticed him take the medicine as he was too caught up in admiring his creation, the bear had also taken to lumbering toward him instead of rushing him like before. They both considered him out of the game, and frankly he didn't blame them; nobody could really recover after what he had just been through. But he could use that to his advantage, _honest_. He just needed to get away first.

Biting down on air to suffer whatever pain was upcoming, Cain began crawling, hand over hand like a wounded soldier deep in the jungle.

Seth laughed loudly at how low the mercenary had fallen and gave another shrill whistle, a command to his bear to end this charade. Heeding his call with a growl, Seb's steps grew heavier, its four legs outpacing Cain greatly.

He ignored how much his injuries hurt, how each pull of his hands across the hot tar would send liquid fire flooding through his injuries. He ignored how he could feel each pawstep of the massive bear, and how he could almost feel its searing breath wash across the back of his sweat-slicked neck. He ignored how cold he was starting to feel, despite the heat radiating from the ground.

What he didn't ignore however was the laugh, one of such enjoyment at his pain and struggle, a self satisfied one that made his blood boil. Instead he used it as fuel, pushing down the pain and panic to keep pulling himself forward. It stoked the fire that kept feeling in his bones and purpose in his heart. He only needed to move a little further, just a little more.

The bear was upon him, saliva dripping down from between its teeth and onto Cain's back. It gave a point-blank roar so loud if forced Cain to give up on escape. Rearing back on its hind legs, Seb glowered down at the still mercenary before falling back forward, its paws placed so they would crush the mercenary as it came down.

Faster than Cain had ever moved, he flipped himself over, a great crash of air and sound signifying that the paws had landed just barely astride him. Clenching the curved horn tighter in his hand, Cain roared defiantly and thrusted upward, the sharp edge ripping straight into Seb's right eye. Twisting the horn and pulling he gouged its eye out, the action earning him spurt after spurt of blood across his face and clothes.

Needless to say, Seb was caught off guard. It reeled back with an uncharacteristically pitiful howl as it struggled to hold its weight up under the wrenching agony. It was futile, the bear collapsed to the ground as it pawed at its missing eye. It wasn't dead yet, but it wouldn't be getting up soon.

Seth gaped, completely at a loss as to what happened. To say his heart stopped would be an understatement, instead he felt as though he had been dragged straight through the center of the earth and out the other side on the tail end of a truck. That should have been the end of everything, that should have been the end of that damn mercenary! Instead he bounced back out of nowhere with a hor-!

The horn! Seth growled as he burst to his feet on top of the hood, his hands cupping his grotesque frown as he seethed. He wasn't crawling away, he was crawling toward the goat corpse! He had reached it just in time to wrench a horn from it and use it as a weapon! Now his war machine was crippled! The slippery, conniving, lucky, cheeky, cheating-!

…Missing.

"AAAHH! You damn bear!" Seth screamed out at the pitifully cowering creature, "Even if you have one eye, don't take it off of him! Where did he go!?"

Indeed, the mercenary had completely vanished. The blood splattered black top he had inhabited was suspiciously empty, as was the immediate vicinity. It seems that in under the cover of the villains tirade Cain had extrapolated with haste, perhaps hiding away somewhere nearby. It was too much to hope that he had run away, Seth knew, Mercenaries were far too stubborn to give up that easily.

He was planning to catch him off guard. This time it may be the last. He needed to find him _now,_ before he got the drop on him. For a moment he considered creating another creature to sniff out the bastard, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the Mercenary would somehow use one of his animals against him.

So he settled for the next best thing.

"Get up you stupid bear! Get up!" The bear sluggishly rolled along the ground, groaning, "Get up and find that damn rat!"

* * *

Cain watched the madman scream at his bear from the shadowy safety of an alley corner, his hand clenching his punctured shoulder and his breath coming out hot and heavy. The medicine had begun to take effect, the pain was already a dull throb instead of the electrifying torture it was before. But, he examined his blood-slick fingers, it would still be a hindrance. He had made too many mistakes out there, he would need to use this small moment of sanctuary to gather himself.

First, his health. His fingers prodded gently at his side, a wince was given with each press of his finger into the bruised skin. It wasn't hard to come to a conclusion, he had two cracked ribs. Possibly broken, but they at least wouldn't puncture any organs so long as they were not directly hit again. Next his fingers crawled over his shoulder, feeling the multiple puncture wounds. That fucking Deputy bit him right around the same place where the snake bit him. It wasn't anything big, but he would need to address it soon if he didn't want to get an infection.

He could still fight, but the injuries would weigh him down. Nothing new to him.

The only real light in the whole situation was that the wolf from before had failed to pierce his jacket with its fangs. Which, frankly, was extremely fortunate. Two animals bites was one thing. But three?

That would call for a serious career reevaluation.

With that out of the way, he needed a plan. Getting close to Seth was the most obvious route to take, but it was easier said than done. That bear would stop him at any cost before he would get near, and Seth's quirk was far too flexible for him to risk running in recklessly. However, from a distance Cain was absolutely useless. He had no knives or weapons to throw, no quirk to help him at this distance. To add salt to the wound, the gatling gun strapped to his downed Motorcycle was currently out of rounds, so that wouldn't work.

" _Even if I had Velvet."_ Cain thought bitterly to himself, feeling off without the comfortable weight at his hip, " _He would still be able to dodge it or create something to block it at this distance."_

Things were truly looking bleak. Cain was no stranger to difficulty on jobs, but this was something else. He couldn't get close enough to beat Seth, and he couldn't hope to go toe to toe with that bear, especially after taking it by surprise like that- it would be on guard now. On the other hand, he refused to simply run away with his tail between his legs. His stubborn nature adamantly forbade that.

It was a terrible choice between his life and his job. For most people it would be an easy choice, one that didn't require any thinking. But, to him, his job _was_ his life.

A small clattering from behind him ended his thoughts, causing him to glance back into the shadowy alley innards with confusion. After looking back at the villain to make sure he was still screaming at his slowly obeying Deputy, Cain began cautiously walking in the direction of the noise.

What he found was one of the few things that could catch him off guard. A small fox lay in the middle of the grainy alley, its paw caught in a mouse trap while it futilely struggled to pry free. Beside the fox lay a gleaming silver revolver, apparently discarded into the mucky rainwater puddle after the fox had unknowingly stepped into the trap.

 _His revolver._

The fox stopped chewing at the steel rat trap when it heard his first cautious step into its view, its eyes slowly gazing up at the injured man with fight or flight instinct burning in the pit of its stomach. The two met eyes and Cain began stalking toward it.

* * *

"You still haven't found him yet?! Use your nose or something! Aren't bears supposed to have a great sense of smell!?"

The bear turned to the irate man and loosed a series of soft roars and growls, its expression far more docile than usual. Its missing eye had practically sealed itself closed from the blood pouring down it.

"Oh please! He's half dead for god's sake! How hard is it to track down a smelly bleeding man!" Seth rolled his shoulder under his soft jacket, his deep glower only growing more foul, "What do I even pay you for?"

A few more growls, "Sure I am! You get a nice big helping of mercenary meat! IF YOU DO YOUR JOB"

Before Seb could growl anything else in his defense, the sound of a boot striking the concrete echoed across the near empty district, silencing the two. Immediately Seb turned, his usual feral expression back, if several measures more cruel.

"Oh, look, I found him." The bear pointedly ignored him.

Partially obscured by the glaring sun, Cain stood tall in the middle of the street. All signs of fatigue and pain now washed away and replaced with that stoic confidence. Even splattered with blood and sweat, he seemed just as intimidating as he had at the beginning of this brawl. It was nothing as childish as unwavering credence or a wealth of inner strength that actuated him. It was a stubborn spiteful spirit that burned in his bones and heated his breath, a burning flame that whitened his knuckles and bared his teeth against one's far sharper.

There was now only the uncharacteristic silence of the shopping district to fill the pressurized air. Far away, the sound of honking car horns and the noise of traffic spoke of better times, but here there was only the harsh and crushing power that nothingness held. The three waited, not daring to take more than a breath or to gently drum their fingers along their respective weapons, as if they knew that shattering the silence would only cut them in much the same way as glass would.

 **\- Red Light Syndrome**

Cains fingers flexed, a sweat sliding down his cheek as he checked his breathing and his heart; the pain was all gone now, but even he could realize when the odds were stacked against him. He wasn't a daredevil that found fun in tackling odds stacked against him, he much preferred when thing went his way. By the blood still smearing his undershirt, it was obvious that it hardly ever did go his way.

Seth rolled his shoulders, his perch on the crumpled hood feeling closer to ground level than he was comfortable with. He had orchestrated the entirety of the battle from the get go, there had been close calls, but he and his **Africa** always had the upper hand. Suffice to say that the nearly cleaned slate that was Cain had nearly sent him on another tirade. The only thing that kept his sanity intact was his faithful Deputy that proved the supremacy of his quirk.

Seb grew tired of the stalemate. His roar was one that tormented the ears of the dead and sent critters scurrying back into their holes. It was a roar of challenge, a threat for tribute for his lost eye. It was one that accompanied his bristling hairs and dripping maw, rage in the most pristine of forms.

Then it charged. Its ferocity given outlet in a crashing sprint reminiscent of a tsunami making landfall. Each heavy beat of its paws was punctuated by the throaty growls and heaves of its diaphragm, a lustful hunger brewing somewhere within its anger and sense of duty. Cain hadn't moved, he hadn't flinched, and he hadn't faltered; he stood strong against the nearing wall of flesh as if he had been born to do this, as if he stared certain death in the face every day of his life.

The bear was too close now. A single beat of its paws remained before its open maw could snap around Cain's throat. Even still there was the unshakeable stone of stubbornness in his blood. There was no shake in his fingers as they flew up, nor doubt in his eyes as he lined up his fingers.

With a great crash, the bear slammed into him, but instead of tearing free his spine, there was the unmistakable gleam of confusion in the beast's eyes- perhaps one of the few glimpses left of his muddied humanity. The bear had indeed crashed into him with such force, but his gasping jaws could not find any purchase, as both upper and lowers hemispheres of his teeth were held firmly between Cains fingers.

Just before Seb could bite him, cains left and right hand wrapped around his snout and lower jaw in such a firm grip that he nearly broke its teeth. The sharp fangs cut harshly through his gloves but Cain showed no sign of caring, he merely kept the beast at bay and insured that he could not bite down. The two had not stopped easily, the force was more than enough to slide the mercenary back and grind his feet across the ground to fight back against the powerful beast, but he had not fallen.

It was an unbelievable sight. Never had Seth seen someone slow a bear with their hands; to overcome such a creature through force of will alone. To his immense hatred, that now familiar fear came back with a vengeance- supplemented by a twisting knot in his stomach and a twinging itch across the back of his neck.

As soon as Seb began to run out of steam Cain cranked his hands, his twisting grip _throwing_ the bear to the ground and nearly shattering its lower jaw. Seb collapsed, its head bouncing off the ground and its thick body slamming down just after it. There was a moment of daze as it suddenly found itself on the ground, the reversal so quick it was at a loss as to what happened. But it passed quickly, and it was back into the fray. Getting back to its feet in a crouch faster than anyone could have thought possible, the bear swung its head straight up into Cain's undefended chest.

Cain grunted, the impact enough to rattle his teeth and jar his focus. However, it was not such a simple rebuttal. Cain's defiance had angered Seb even further, so much so that every inkling of strength in his bear body was poured into this headbutt. With so much brute strength, the mercenary was thrown high up into the air, flipping head over heels at he climbed meters into the great blue above.

Cain only let his surprise hold him for a moment before he began twisting and arching his body to stop his spin. Luckily, he found balance at the same time he began plummeting back to earth, straight toward the now bipedal bear. Seb was obviously planning to snatch him from the air with his teeth, to end the match here and now in this final strike.

It would end. But perhaps not in the way he was expecting.

His fingers moved with such surety and deftness it would put master craftsmen to shame, each digit wrapping around the heft of his revolver and swinging it out in a smooth concise motion. The barrel gleamed beautifully with the bright sun, every dip and cleft of its framework seemingly shimmering. From the scorched muzzle at the tip, to the falling hammer at its back, each were carefully crafted for one purpose.

Cains finger depressed the trigger, and a concussive explosion shattered the world. It seemed far louder than it had ever had been, as if it were rejoicing in the return of its user in murderous fashion. The round spun free of the muzzle faster than any eye could see, the chamber rolling behind it with a faint _click_ and a transparent plume of flame spreading behind it _._ It spun and spun, cutting a whizzing line through air, fur, flesh, bone, and blood. It spiraled straight through Seb's skull and out the other side as if there was no resistance; as if tearing apart the brain and shattering a spine was a simple matter for it. A deluge of gray matter followed in its wake, staining the concrete with morbidity.

Even after his rebirth, Seb's voice had always been ferocious and powerful. He had always had that unwavering confidence and strength in battle that younger recruits would look up to in awe. After being forcefully remolded by **Africa,** his voice had only grown more powerful, each and every roar speaking volumes of the struggles he had underwent. Now, in death, his voice still held that tint of power, a fleck of resolve even as his eyes faded and his limbs locked up; a spiteful growl passing through his teeth even now.

The aftershock of the revolver drowned it out.

Cain slammed to the ground at the same time Seb fell over dead, his weapon smoking in hand and his crouched poise steady. Slowly he stood, his neck cracking as he eased his sore muscles and waved off the pain in his fingers. Snapping out his revolver to the side and popping open the chamber with a rolling flourish, he peeked in. Still three shots left, even after all this struggle he had only fired three times. Rummaging through his pockets, his slid in the missing rounds and slammed the chamber back into place; not without rolling it first of course.

Seth's expression was unreadable, his frazzled hair partially covering his face. Though, by the tremor in his fingers, it was obvious he was far from pleased with the turn of events.

"...You are a pest. A roach who refuses to die." His voice was as calm as the wind before a storm, "I am to blame. The only way to make sure you stay dead, is to claim your head with my own two hands."

Seth suddenly cut himself off, his body jerking and his mouth gaping as if he had been struck with lightning. Seth convulsed rapidly as his flesh began trembling, the wiry fur on **Africa** standing on end and quivering something fierce.

Then he stiffened, his body halting as he stared upward with a blank stare. Seth screamed, loud and hard as his he held his mutant arm close to him; sweat positively pouring from his as he grunted and cried out in exertion. But beneath all that pain, Cain saw something that worried him more than any bear or animal ever could; he saw a victorious smile, one of a man who wasn't dead yet.

Cain's eyes widened as the fur on **Africa** began to grow thicker and more pronounced. With every shake, the veins would bulge and fur would slither out from beneath his skin; some would even gather together and spire upward in startlingly solid tower-like formations. It was changing. _Evolving._ Without even thinking Cain flicked his revolver out and fired off yet another round. He wasn't sure how many more tricks he could handle, an evolving quirk, especially one as powerful as this, was not something he needed right now!

The villain swung his arm out without even looking, a shower of sparks filling the air as he parried the bullet swiftly; one of the thick hairs on his arm denting the bullet and sending it careening across the blacktop. As it spun along the ground, the hard metallic shell began to give away; the silvery metal collapsing in on itself until only an ant remained in its place. A bullet ant, to be precise.

Cain had been too slow.

Now free of the tremors, Seb stood proudly, his breath still coming out hot and harsh, but his smirk stronger than ever. The **Africa** Cain knew was gone, in its place was a horrible recreation; the fur covering it entirely with sharp, thick shards jutting out intermittently from its mess. The things resembled armadillo shells, or perhaps porcupine spines enlarged multiple times, though were shaped more like stone spikes. They were as big as an arm and were numerous all around his quirk.

"Your hands are deft mercenary!" Seb's voice was completely different, now more guttural and raspy; it was how Cain imagined Orcs sounded when he was a child. "But the only way you're getting your hands on me is when I strap them to my hip, for all the world to see!"

Seb howled loudly, a thin misty fog coiling off him as even more armadillo shards sprouted from various parts of his body. Spinning around and swinging his clenched fist, his outstretched arm let free one of the hardened spines stuck to his flesh. Like a football, it rocketed toward Cain in a rapid spiral.

The thing whizzed just by his ear, drowning his senses with its high pitched whistle as it nearly took his head from his shoulders. Cain glanced back and watched as it embedded itself into the concrete, a geyser of small roaches spilling out from the cracks it had created. They moved about aimlessly, meaning Seth had no interest in commanding them, but Cain could not dwell on this for very long.

Already, another one was winging toward him. This time the mercenary was forced to duck and cover, lest he be gutted where he stood. Not even hazarding a look at his rival, Cain continued rolling and throwing his body to the side, metallic crashes exploding and showering him with debris from where he had been mere moments earlier.

There was a pattern, he could take advantage of that. As soon as he sensed the next one coming Cain instead dived forward, straight toward the villain and the incoming spike. Cain let out a breath of relief as he saw the spike fly underneath him, his gamble paying off as he rolled to his feet facing the villain, the distance just a little bit shorter.

Seth hefted his arm up, another spike cruelly clutched between his fingers, "I wonder just what kind of animal you will be! Perhaps a pig or a rat? Hah! Haha!"

Cain grunted as he once again had to sidestep a missile, though this time it was far more difficult with their closing proximity. He wouldn't dare to use one of his tools to parry the spikes either. Whatever they were, it was obvious that shells acted similar to **Africa's** claws, anything struck by it would morph into an animal. He couldn't afford to be hit by it even once, yet he still needed to get close enough to put his revolver to good use.

The new evolution would make this extremely difficult. He couldn't safely get close, and he couldn't keep his distance either.

Cain stepped forward, his body spinning around a spike like a football player. Next he dived forward, painfully sliding under another one. Yards separated them, but he was getting closer. Cain rolled and rolled to avoid more and more, ever on the back foot even as he slowly got closer. 3 yards left, his hand clamped around a stone of asphalt and used it to knock away a spike that would have pierced his skull. He made quite sure to toss it away as he stood.

He was close enough. Now he just needed to catch him off guard. Seth was already sweating horribly, the exertion and the realization that Cain was already so close was putting him on edge and making him panic again. Three spikes this time, he was desperate and they were sloppy, Cain turned and slid through the space between them, his fiery eyes locking on Seth as he unholstered his revolver and righted himself.

Time crawled by slowly as Cain's senses once again sharpened; every ounce of his being pouring into his focus. It was like his limbs were cutting through molasses as he nimbly brought the revolver up. The sound of its hammer cocking back was loud and heavy, and the small breath he took echoed in the silence. Cain focused on the horrified look in Seth's eyes, in the eyes of a man who would be dead. How the sweat slowly trailed down his face and soaked his hair, how his limbs desperately tried to strike him. His revolver leveled out, the sun and the smouldering fires glinting off its muzzle. Even dulled by dust and ash, the barren and wrecked arena reflected lazily over its curved surface; a glimpse of growing fangs inset in a gaping maw centered in the reflection.

Reality came rushing back when Cain felt his firing arm erupt up in horrible agony; such world shaking burning that his focus was momentarily shattered, his gun prematurely unloading a shot into the concrete. Something was digging and tearing through his jacket, straight into the sensitive flesh of his forearm with little resistance- it was heavy too, the snarling weight dragging him off balance and yanking his arm down.

He gasped heavily when he found the large wolf clinging to his arm, its fangs locked deep into his blood-pooling skin and its throat snarling as it tugged at his limb. Cain found himself staring at it in shocked silence for one precious moment, taken completely off guard and terribly confused.

The animal had come from absolutely nowhere. Cain was certain he had put enough pressure on Seth to insure he couldn't have time to create another animal, and he was more than sure that he had no more knives to transform anyway! So why? How did he-

A knife.

A cold, heavy block of ice fell harshly into the pit of his stomach, freezing his limbs, choking his breath, and short-circuiting his brain. In that one dead second he came to the terrible realization of how naive he had been. He remembered his mistake.

 _-without the worry of you fools fucking up something behind my back." Seth slipped a knife out of his coat, and hurled it at the window; the blade digging into the wall just beside it with a thunk. "But what did I get? I got you fools! Dumbasses who can't take a hint or keep their hands to themselves."_

Cain thought the villain threw the knife from pure rage, but he was oh so wrong. It wasn't blind anger that forced him to do it, but pure _cunning._ Before he had thrown it, Seth had covertly scratched the blade with **Africa** , but instead of transforming it immediately, he _delayed_ it. Throwing it at his brother's corpse was merely a ploy to take Cain's attention away from it and to dismiss it; the perfect plan to get a trap right behind him.

Cain's eyes snapped back up just in time to witness a thick shard of carapace whistling toward him; its speed incredible, and its intent palpable. With their proximity and with the wolf still throwing off his balance, he couldn't hope to dodge it in time.

The shard drilled deep into his exposed side, his eyes flew wide and his mouth hung open as the world fell silent to his ears; only the heavy pounding of his blood behind his ears could be heard. The sheer force behind it was enough to yank him from his feet and throw him from the villain, his limbs limp and his face pale as he careened through the air. He flopped against the ground like a discarded doll and in much the same way his head bounced off the ground lifelessly alongside a pitiful slide of his body along the hot tar.

"AHAHAA! I FINALLY GOT YOU, MERCENARY!"

The mercenary was still as the grave, his blank eyes staring upward into the clear blue sky with all the life of a porcelain figurine. He gave a weak groan before he began to shrink into himself; his knees pulling up to his chest and his body going fetal position. Starting from his back, a viscous black mold suddenly sprouted out, it clung to his jacket like a pustule plague and seemed to throb like a heartbeat. As if it was alive, it crawled and stretched out across his clothes and skin until nearly his entire body was covered in it. With a final pulse of its irregular heart, the virus stopped, and all that remained of the mercenary was a pulsing blob of black slime.

It was a strange sight to see. The midnight black womb stood in direct contrast of the bright gale of the sun and the soft metal of the surrounding buildings. Even the fleeting embers and mutilated corpses seemed more natural than this did. It bloated like a balloon, its size increasing ever so slightly while its surface rounded out. Much like any other quirk, it directly defied the laws of physics; there was no cause or purpose for such a criminally disgusting thing, yet here it was.

Then, much like a balloon, it began to deflate. Its spherical size crumpled into itself as it began to rapidly deflate. A thin transparent slime began to leak through the road as it shrunk, the virus losing form until a new one began to take shape. Reflective goo gave way to four legs, each terminating in clawed paws. The rounded and shaved down until a long tail was all that was left, slowly swishing in the warm air. As its lithe body began to take shape, its head emerged freely; triangular ears, long whiskers, a small wet nose, and as it laconically yawned it revealed a terrifying set of long fangs surrounding a long tongue.

Next, the black dye began to fade into itself. Fur slowly made itself known all across its form, orange prominently, but there were thin stripes of black and white scattered throughout it. The color scheme traveled all across its body, from its tail to its mouth until the creature was finally free of its womb. The last thing to be cleared of the sludge was its eyes, and what a fearsome set it was! The color was a near indefinable orange, a kaleidoscope of like colors that made for a mesmerizing sight, but above all else they were fearsome, fear-striking eyes that captured attention and broke courage.

Cain had been wiped away.

Seth gaped for a moment before his wicked smile cracked his face, his eyes maniacally wide as he grinned childishly. Slowly he stalked forward, his steps a little uneasy yet carefree. The beast recognized his approach, but made no move to react; it merely continued stretching out its furred body and shaking away the last few specks of liquid in leisurely fashion.

Cautiously and with shaky fingers, Seth's hand outstretched to its head; he moved so very slowly, as if he were afraid that one wrong move would cause the animal to disappear. The creature regarded his hand for a small moment before it graciously pressed its head into his palm, relishing in the small strokes he gave its fur with a throaty purr. Seth's joy was infectious, his palm sliding through its smooth fur as he chuckled quietly to himself.

 _A tiger_. Even just thinking the words to himself sent a shiver down his spine. Seth had seen many things in his time as a villain, he had taken many lives with his **Africa** , but only a select few had ever been reborn as such a ferocious animal; only so many had become a predator. Yet, Seth could not find it in himself to be surprised. He spoke ill of the late mercenary, but he had impressed him non-stop throughout the battle. He had fought like a true warrior and tested the very limits of the villains experience and capability. It was no surprise that he had the presence of a tiger, it was who he was in life.

"It was a good fight." The furred villain spoke gently to the tiger as it stared at him quizzically, "I regret that we had to have been enemies… But, blood for blood. My brothers have been avenged."

Seth's head whipped around as he heard the distant whine of sirens. They were a good distance away, and there was no telling if they were even coming this way, but it was a risk he'd rather not take. The villain raised himself up and backed away, a snap of his fingers beckoning the tiger his way.

"Come. There is no more reason to stay here." He would have loved to gather his brother's body, but he wasn't sure his heart could take seeing what was left of him.

"But this is far from over. No, No. This is only the beginning. First we find who bought you, and then we find those cult bastards." Despite his melancholy, he spat those words out with venom, " _Protection_ my ass… They're gonna pay…"

Ashes and embers mingled in the air as a gentle wind blew them around Seth, almost like a wreath of flame that so gracefully complimented his corrupted body. He strided like a soldier marching home; battered but no less victorious and thankful for the end of the storm. He had been tested like few men had ever been, the very upper limits of his ability put under the greatest strain possible. Cain, for all his seemingly quirkless strength, had been the most difficult enemy he had ever faced.

But he had fallen. Like so many before him, the sheer power of nature could not be overcome by anyone; it was savage and predatory, a veritable tidal wave of power that could bowl over anything in its path. Cain had tested him, yes, but in the end it was a simple matter of fact that nobody could stop nature.

Now, Seth knew just how limitless he was. Nobody could truly stop him anymore. He would find those who coveted his demise and subject them to his quirk without mercy. And in their death he would build an army in his name, a true _animal kingdom._ It wouldn't be easy of course, he would face quirks of unimaginable strength, ones that spat in the face of logic and promised destruction. Compared to such destructive powers, his quirk seemed a gentle whisper of the leaves to a raging tempest.

But, in the end, nature always prevailed.

Perhaps his precious nature is what alerted him, whispering in his ear with hushed words that crumpled his dreams like paper mache. Or maybe it was the silence that had felt so welcoming before; now it was confusing and suffocating. Either way, Seth found himself coming to a cold stop in the middle of the street, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Slowly turning around, Seth found that his faithful pet had not moved an inch, despite his beckoning. The tiger had remained in place with it's curious eyes still locked on him in a now much more disconcerting way. Cautiously, Seth stepped toward it, ice trailing down his spine as he approached.

"What's wrong?" Seth let out a short breath of relief when the predator didn't react violently to his stroking touch, though he still couldn't bite back the dread in his stomach at the lack of _any_ reaction.

Seth stared deep into the animal's eyes, searching for something- anything. Perhaps the mercenaries humanity had not been completely overwritten? It wasn't uncommon, usually small traces of a man's personality still remained even after transformation; though they would still follow his orders. But in those feline eyes he saw none of the mercs stubbornness or violence, there was no anger or hatred, no defiance. In fact, there was nothing that even remotely hinted at humanity.

They were empty.

A sudden yowl of pain is what forced Seth to leap to his feet with wide eyes as the tiger staggered to the side in obvious pain. Every step forced it to try and rebalance itself, as if even the act of standing had become impossible for it. He reached out helplessly to the animal as it continued to moan and mewl in pain as its body shivered and convulsed. His confusion was great, had his quirk failed? Did **Africa** create the tiger with defects? Why was it in so much pain, and what could he do? His mind whirled as the beast continued to roar and thrash, its energy slowly depleting until it was still once more.

Seth's hand shook like a ship in a storm, each digit shivering in anticipation and worry as he reached out to the panting creature. As the inches grew shorter between them, Seth found that the knot in his stomach had only doubled in size.

As soon as he fingers brushed over the soft orange-tinged fur, the world came to a halt. Fingers suddenly burst from the tigers back; ten piercing through the soft fur and flesh and pointing heavenward like pillars. Blood flew up into the air as the fingers curled and gripped at the torn flesh of the howling animal, a moment of strain following as the hands pulled at the prison, the flesh slowly giving way as the gaping wound expanded.

With the horrendous sound of tearing flesh, the fingers finally ripped open a massive hole along where the tigers spine should have been. Instead, bursting from the cavity in a whirlwind of gore and flesh was Cain. He burst from within the animal like magic, his fingers having ripped open a hole for him to leap out of. He was drenched in viscera and blood that poured down his hair and shoulders, the black-red liquid soaking into his clothes and skin alongside meaty slabs of uprooted flesh, while everything beneath his knees was still firmly lodged in the tigers intestines.

"W-WHAT?!"

"Your kingdom falls here, Chu-Lin!" Cain roared, "Die!"

Cain's revolver remained steadied at his hip, its muzzle pointing firmly in Seth's direction as he held it there and his other hand hovered over its hammer. What followed was his finger holding the trigger while the palm of his hand rapidly struck down the firing hammer. Rapidly, the chamber spun and the firing pin struck, releasing all four bullets in just under two seconds.

The muzzle flashed rapidly as explosions rocked the weapon, throwing it off with the incredible recoil- though at this distance, it didn't matter. One bullet drilled its way deep into Seth's shoulder, the tough bone beneath his flesh _shattering_ and bursting out the back in a flurry of blood. Another high caliber round wormed its way through his flesh and ripped into his liver, the fragile organ nearly bursting at the shock. Immediately after, two more bullets came in at near the same time; one completely obliterating his pancreas along with part of his intestines, and the other striking a blow at his hip and crushing the bone there.

Seth fell hard. His back struck the concrete with a dull noise as blood poured from his many wounds; flesh, bone, and blood all collecting in frightening amounts. Seth wanted so desperately to scream, to release his pain in whatever way he could, but simply found he couldn't; all he could produce was a wheezing whistle as his eyes blew wide with shock.

The sound of sloshing liquid and scraping along the ground attracted his attention to the filthy boots beside his head, splattered as they were with blood. The metallic sound of a barrel rolling made his blood freeze and heralded the revolver barrel obstructing his sight of the sky.

Seth couldn't move, couldn't fight back even if he thought it would do any good. It was checkmate.

"No… No, no, no…" His words came out slurred, his panting and wet coughs cutting himself off. His fingers scrabbled over his chest and stomach, trying to stop up the flow of blood even though each twinge of his muscles brought a fresh flood of tears streaming down his cheek. "Please god, no…"

He was a truly pathetic sight. His lips trembled and he sobbed quietly, a far cry from the cocky man from mere moments ago. The fact that he was dying had begun to set in; he was going into shock.

Seth's head fell back, his eyes squeezing tight as he whispered fast and harsh to himself. Cain felt pity itch at the back of his throat. Even though he had put him through the wringer, Cain still felt bad on the Villains behalf. He hefted his weapon, his grip tightening a little as he stared down at the pathetic man. It would be a far more economic option to simply stomp on his head, or even let him bleed out. But something stopped him, a disgusting feeling in his stomach telling him to put the Villain out of his misery.

Him and his bleeding heart...

Fingers clamped down on his ankle, immediately drawing Cain's gaze to the shivering dead man. Despite the massive amount of internal bleeding and the agonizing pain, he still managed to glower up at the mercenary hatefully. Cain felt mildly impressed at the sight, even more so when he began to speak.

"...h-ow?" Cain raised an eyebrow in confusion, the words were so quiet he wasn't sure he heard them right. After swallowing past the thick fluid in his throat, Seth stutteringly spoke up, "How did you do it… How d-did you beat my quirk?" His perfect quirk, the one that should have ended the battle in an instant, had failed him. Maybe it was pointless to know, but he still wanted an answer nonetheless.

Cain sneered and fiercely shook his leg, knocking Seth's hand from him and eliciting a sharp cry of pain from him. "Luck, mostly." And did he ever enjoy how Seth's expression fell at the laconic answer, "I'd be lying if I said I planned it all out, and I don't see any point in lying to a dead man. But I made sure I was one step ahead of you, thats why I beat your **Africa**."

"I never once for a moment thought you would let me get close again. I knew you had something up your sleeve, some way to catch me off guard if I got too close. 'Course, I didn't know _what_ that was, but it pays to be cautious" Cain agitatedly rubbed at the still dripping teeth marks in his shoulder.

"You and your quirk are predictable." Seth cringed, the insult pounding into his skull as he crumpled slightly, "So predictable, that I was able to react to your plan and use it against you."

It was a common psychological phenomenon, often more attributed to war veterans or long time heroes. Experience was one of the most powerful things in this world, even more powerful than any quirk. Every battle, every broken bone, every knife in the back, every failed plan, and every life taken were all important lessons. There were only so many times you could get tricked before you started to wise up. Though he didn't show it, his list of failures and mistakes far outweighed his perfect successes.

Seth's head fell back as he went silent, his eyes shutting as his fidgeting slowed. Cain almost thought the man had passed away until he spoke up.

"...I missed you. It wasn't fortune or some skill, I just gave you enough time to react to my attack." His hand rose and pointed a shaky finger at the amused mercenary, "I never hit you. It only looked like I did. **I hit your jacket!** "

True to form, Cain stood over Seth with his trademark jacket currently missing. His white T-shirt thoroughly drenched in blood, and he seemed extremely out of place without his article- but no less intimidating.

"That's right. Your thorns never even touched me, I shifted my body just enough so they grazed by and only hit my jacket. And since I was still wearing it, I got pulled inside of it when it transformed."

Seth held his face, tears spilling out from his lids as he bit down on his lip in anger, "You used my quirk against me… you knew I would let the tiger get close, so that you could catch me off guard! And I fell for it like a damn idiot!"

Seth thrashed a few more times, though soon regretted it when his all of his injuries sang out at once, nearly causing him to pass out. Only the sharp pain of boots stamping on his fingers allowed his mind to sharpen up.

"Not yet. You don't get to die yet. You still have something I want."

"...Fine. What do you wa...want from me?" There was no sense in being stubborn. Seth knew that would only invite more pain, and he wasn't in the state of mind to resist such torture right now.

"Answers. You said something about a cult and protection. I want to know what that is"

Seth sneered, his expression now more angry than pained, "Those bastards… They were meant to protect my brothers and I… But they didn't even show up- they had to have known we were at risk, but they didn't even lift a finger…"

The foot pressed a little harder against his fingers, making it obvious Cain was interested in his sob stories. Seth swallowed the acidic fluid in his throat and continued,

"One month ago, i was approached by a group of people- a bunch of cult fantasists, all wearing the same shit. It was after we were nearly caught by the police, we were laying low for a time when they waltzed right up to our doorstep." Seth coughed, splattering the ground with a murky stew of spit and blood, "...They offered us protection, said they would make sure the cops and anyone else after our head were dealt with- I just needed to do them favors."

"What kind of favors?"

"They wanted animals. Not just any animals, they wanted the big bad predators- the kind I can only make by transforming people. No idea what they wanted them for, but I wasn't in the position to be asking questions. They provided tools when I needed them, and I gave them the animals in return; whatever they were doing was working, because the pigs never caught on that it was me behind the "kidnappings" and "disappearances"."

Seth groaned a little as he shifted, "They were strangely interested in my quirk. The only reason I even accepted was because I knew they weren't interested in my brothers quirks, in fact they disregarded them as soon as I coughed up what their quirks were. It was a good thing too… These cult bastards were unpredictable, I didn't want my family interacting with them more than they had to."

"But… A few days ago they went radio silent. They stopped making requests for certain animals, they stopped sending people to collect them or to give us updates on our status. Maybe something spooked them? I don't know. But what I do know, is that they didn't back us up when _you_ came knocking."

Cain ignored the remark, "Who were they? Did they have a name? What did they look like?"

Seth just shook his head slowly, "No clue. They never used names when they approached me. Not only that, but they always wore those freaky ass masks… Guess I was too big of a risk for them to disclose with. Cant even say for sure how big they are. I got a different person every single time I spoke to them."

"Hmm…" A group of people smart enough to make deals with powerful villains, keep their identities secret, and their hands clean. It wasn't the first time he had seen something like that, but it was a worrying prospect nonetheless.

As he bled out on the concrete, Seth cursed himself, the world, and the bastard of a man before him. In the span of a days time, he had lost everything; his family, his dignity, and his life. Everything was slipping from his finger prints, and he found it difficult to focus on any one thing before it was gone. But there was one thought that stood out from all the others: The mercenaries jacket had the presence of a tiger, an animal he never thought a piece of _clothing_ could become.

Just what would he turn into if he _had_ been hit?

Cain must have read his thoughts, because he smirked down on him, the revolver back in position. "Keep guessing."

"Ah!" Just before Cain could pull the trigger he vanished from sight, one moment he was towering over Seth, and the next he was whisked away as if he were tied to a speeding truck. Seth blinked in confusion as something wet splashed across his face, momentarily blinding him. There was no energy left for him to pull himself up, so he could only shift his head up and stare at where his would-be killer disappeared to.

Cain was groaning at the foot of the mall entrance, his body soaked and dripping as he haltingly tried to lift himself up with his elbows. Seth's skewed mind tried to make sense of the reverse of situation. Had he made an animal he had forgotten about? Only the sound of footsteps behind him and the suddenly venomous glare from the mercenary made him realize what had happened- and his heart soared.

Hands gently settled on his shoulder and back, easing him to the ground as the lacerated but smiling face of his brother appeared in his vision. Alan was heavily wounded and bleeding, but alive. His green mohawk, once a point irritation for the older brother, was a breath of fresh air.

"H-how?"

Alan smirked at him, the relaxed action doing nothing for how furious his eyes looked. "You were right. My quirk really did have room to improve." Against all odds, Seth smiled and chuckled to himself. Seth had badgered him over it for so many years, and each time he had been adamantly ignored; oh how he wished he had the willpower to gloat. Alan's face grew more serious as he made sure Seth's hands held his worst wounds, his touch tender and methodical, "Just hold on. I'm going to finish what you started, and get you outta here. "

Seth nodded and clutched at his wounds, his will to live renewed. "Be careful Alan. You can't hesitate… Not even for a moment"

Alan stepped over his brother and approached the mercenary as he pulled himself off the ground, his irate glare not even fazing the villain. Cain slouched over, his breathing ragged and his hands clutching at his chest- the exhaustion was evident on his face. On the other hand, apart from a few surface wounds, Alan was as fresh as the day he was born.

"Surprised? I don't blame you, I was surprised too." Alan cocked his head at the look on the mans face, the small action causing the skin of his throat to shimmer for a moment before it suddenly dissolved and liquefied. In the span of a breath, Alan's skin faded and was replaced with pure liquid- his entire neck now made out of water. "I never knew just what my quirk was capable of. I've always needed that push in the right direction, and you gave it to me."

Alan's outstretched arms quickly warped and became dripping liquid as well, a vortex spinning in his palms as he widened his stance. Cain took on his own stance, his expression much less confident than before.

"C'mon then! It's time you got what's comin' to you!" Alan's expression was feral, all sharp teeth proudly on display as the world around them burned. "This is my new and improved quirk: **Ozzmosis!** You don't stand a chance!"

* * *

 **A/N**  
 **Poor Cain. Well, that what he gets for acting like such hot shit. There's a lot to keep track of in this fight, and I can't help but feel it looked better when I designed it in my head, but I am still pretty happy with what I've written up.**

 **As always, keep an eye out for when the next chapter is due. God only knows when that is.**


End file.
